


surman suuhun

by JayofDiamonds



Category: GOT7, JJ Project
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mentions of Infidelity (Estranged Marriage), Minor Character Death, Pining, Supernatural Elements, Supporting cast of OCs - Freeform, vague religious themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22983295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayofDiamonds/pseuds/JayofDiamonds
Summary: A case lands on Jackson’s desk. In a little town in northern Michigan, a body has been found, suspected to be the resurfacing of a serial killer. It’s not the FBI’s usual kind of case, or Jackson’s usual kind of case. But after enlisting the help of his friend Jinyoung, a medical examiner, Jackson resigns himself to spending Christmas working. He quickly discovers that the bleak and cheerless little town hides dangerous secrets.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Original Female Character(s), Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung
Comments: 19
Kudos: 103
Collections: JJP Big Bang





	surman suuhun

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Please remember to check the tags before taking the plunge!
> 
> Before the story starts, I must thank my excellent team, beta [Ellie](https://twitter.com/ythurielle) and artist [Marty](https://twitter.com/MartytheGirl)!!! I genuinely could not have gotten this finished without their encouragement and guidance!! And thank you also to the JJPBigBang mod Leah for organizing everything so efficiently! (and for the extensions...)
> 
> the accompanying art done by Marty can be found at the end of the fic, as it is in fact spoilers!

**10:39 am, December 18th.**

Jinyoung is enjoying his mid-morning coffee when Jackson greets him by slapping a thin file folder down on his desk.

“We’re spending Christmas together,” Jackson declares, tugging his scarf off and depositing himself in the seat across from Jinyoung.

“How did you get in here?” Jinyoung grumbles, taking a stubborn sip of his coffee and not giving Jackson’s file a second glance.

Throwing his scarf onto the other chair, Jackson melts into the chair like he belongs there. “Please, Jinyoungie, Tracy at the front desk _loves_ me. Besides, I’m here on official business!”

“I thought you said you were here about Christmas,” Jinyoung turns to finally give Jackson his full attention. “Hold on, you’re not going to stay with your family this year?”

“Ugh,” Jackson leans on the table in defeat, “don’t remind me. I like, just finished reading a disappointed email from my mom about it. But I can’t. I have an assignment.”

“Oh, I see. And how does that translate into _us_ spending Christmas together? You have plenty of other friends.”

“This,” Jackson picks up the file folder again and shakes it excitedly, “is how. I got you roped in as consulting medical examiner! I had to finagle a bit, since they’d prefer a local so there’s not the expense of flying you in with me, but you know I have my charming ways!”

Despite himself, Jinyoung watches the folder curiously as Jackson waves it around, as if the outside will hold any interesting information. “So you want to spend Christmas together… _working_? Where is it? Why is a medical examiner required?”

“Because there’s a body to examine, obviously!” Jackson cracks open the file in his hand. From Jinyoung’s vantage point, he can’t see into it, but it looks terribly empty. “Okay, so the file is super sparse, but here it is. There were a series of deaths and disappearances several years ago, believed to be connected. They were never solved, but they stopped suddenly anyway. The other day they found a body. Recent. Done the same way, they think. There’s only a local doctor, so they’re not sure.”

“Why is the FBI getting involved? It doesn’t sound like their kind of case. Or your kind of case.”

“Apparently, one of the locals on the original investigation now works at the FBI.”

“And he’s a higher-up and he’s pulling some strings to get the FBI involved now, regardless of jurisdiction.”

“Don’t be so cynical!” Jackson scolds. “It’s in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, so the local authorities need some extra help. The help of a crack FBI agent and his trusty sidekick medical examiner!”

Jinyoung raises his eyebrows scornfully, long past arguing against being the sidekick.

“Maybe it would do you some good, Jinyoungie,” Jackson says, suddenly solemn, voice taking on an apologetic, almost pitying tone. “To get out of Washington for a while. Now that you’ve broken up with-”

“ _Been_ broken up with,” Jinyoung corrects. He wants to recoil physically at the reminder, but he simply leans back in his chair and takes a long swig of his coffee.

“Whatever.” Balancing out the careful space between them, Jackson leans his forearms onto Jinyoung’s desk. “You know it’s for the best the relationship’s over.”

“I know,” Jinyoung says softly, shoulders curling in shamefully. He hates how easily Jackson can pull emotions out of him, but it’s always been that way. Sighing, he puts his empty coffee cup on his desk, fiddling with his idle fingers. “I just wish he had the good sense not to tell his wife about it.”

“Some people would say that’s the honourable thing to do when one has an affair,” Jackson says delicately.

Face crumpling, Jinyoung scrubs his hands over his eyes, irritated. “Ugh, I know what you must think of me,” Jinyoung’s voice is muffled by his palms. “I’m so stupid.”

“Oh Jinyoung, I didn’t mean to get into this again, I just… I know you’re worried about…” Jackson leans even closer, glancing cautiously over each shoulder, “the fallout of it all. Now that your work colleagues know… y’know…”

“That I’m a homewrecker?” Jinyoung supplies from behind his hands.

“He wrecked his own home, Jinyoungie.”

“Yeah but I didn’t have to help. I just thought… he was so unhappy with her, I thought… ugh,” Jinyoung drags his hands off his face, taking in a deep breath, “anyway, maybe you’re right. Maybe this will all blow over by the time I come home and my professional reputation won’t be ruined forever.”

Jackson watches Jinyoung reassure himself with careful eyes. “It’s that bad?”

“He’s the district attorney, Jackson. It could end up on the news, for god's sake. Makes me never want to show my face in Washington again.”

“Your coworkers probably wouldn’t believe it anyway, everyone I talk to thinks you’re very…”

“Prudish?”

“I was going to say buttoned-up,” Jackson replies crisply.

They sit in silence for a moment. Jinyoung picks up his empty cup again, in case he missed a drop of coffee, and Jackson worries his lip, eager to fill the space with words. Finally Jackson taps the spine of the file against the edge of Jinyoung’s desk.

“You could use a break anyway.”

“It’s hardly a _break_ if we’re working.”

Jackson shrugs, sighing dramatically. “You’re never gonna take a normal break, this is the best I can do.”

“What about Nora?” Jinyoung frowns. “You want me to board her over Christmas? Leave her alone?”

“She’ll be with her cat buddies! Being boarded is basically like a vacation for her,” Jackson reasons, wheedling with a smile. “It would look unprofessional for you to say no at this point! The flight is booked! We leave tomorrow.”

“ _Tomorrow?_ Jackson, I have other work-” Jinyoung groans, before cutting himself off with a sigh. “How outlandishly early is the flight?”

Jackson has the decency to look contrite. “Just 8 am. Of course we’ll have to be there at like 6 am. Better take the afternoon off. Pack your bags, Jinyoungie!”

**8:00 am, December 19th.**

“Why didn’t you tell me we’re going to _Michigan_?” Jinyoung spits out the word like he means _Hell_.

“I thought I did,” Jackson whines, leaning over the armrest between their seats to tug at Jinyoung’s sleeve. “Why are you mad? How do you even know the airport code, I mean Iron Mountain? It sounds like something out of Lord of the Rings.”

Jinyoung glares down at his boarding pass. D.C. to Detroit, then they catch a connecting flight to Ford Airport, Iron Mountain. “I just fucking hate Michigan. And going there in the winter is about as clever as going to Florida in the middle of August.”

“Speaking of, when we land we’ll be meeting up with another agent… from L.A.”

“L.A? Why would they send an agent all the way from Los Angeles? There’s an FBI building right there in Detroit.”

“Search me.”

“Look, just…” Jinyoung takes a deep breath, still frowning down at the airport codes. Steeling himself, he turns to Jackson. “Let me read the file, you didn’t give me a chance yesterday. I can’t believe I agreed to this. God, if this isn’t the year of me making stupid decisions.”

“I can’t let you open the file here where anyone can see,” Jackson protests, but he’s just messing around.

“Jackson,” Jinyoung growls, losing patience, “let me see it. How can I do my job without it? I just want to know where we’re going.”

“Fine,” Jackson says, mildly affronted. He pulls out the folder and opens it primly so Jinyoung can’t peek in. “It’s… called Cliff’s Edge. Upper Peninsula.”

Jinyoung lets out a sigh, faint but long, emptying his lungs like the wind rushing between trees. Cocking his eyebrow, Jackson looks up to see Jinyoung’s face frozen in his frustratingly neutral resting expression, gaze miles away.

“What’s up?” Jackson asks, peering over the top of the file.

“Um,” Jinyoung starts, shaking his head as he gathers his thoughts, “what… Does it say the name of the victim? The latest one?”

“No, the body’s unidentified.”

“Why?” 

“Why…?”

“Was something done to it to make it unrecognizable-” Jinyoung cuts himself off, a stormy frown breaking over his face. He reaches out an expectant hand. “Would you just let me see the file Jackson? You invited me here as a professional, so let me do my job.”

“Right,” Jackson says, shoulders raising in embarrassment. Tidying up the file, he hands it over with an apologetic smile. “I was just messing, I didn’t mean…The locals just don’t recognize the face. They think it’s a tourist. The body is intact.”

“I see,” Jinyoung replies sharply as he reads the same words on the page. “No photographs?”

“No, apparently it’s a modern miracle we even got that much information. That’s everything there is on the older cases and the current one.”

After a few moments of silence, Jinyoung’s eyes flitting across the sparse file, mouth set in a firm line, Jackson speaks again.

“Sorry, Jinyoung.”

“I didn’t mean to get so worked up, I’m just…” Jinyoung sighs again, not looking up from the file. “I’m just in a bad mood.”

“You know what would make you feel better? Another cup of coffee,” Jackson says, knocking Jinyoung’s knee playfully with his own.

Despite himself, Jinyoung cracks a smile. “Probably.”

There’s another lull in conversation, and Jackson idly watches the flight attendant set up for the safety demonstration.

“This is really all the information there is?” Jinyoung asks, flipping over the pages only to find the other sides blank. “Even on the older disappearances and deaths? This is nothing.”

“Yeah,” Jackson leans over to look into the file with Jinyoung, “from what I saw, it’s just some half-assed medical reports by the local doctor; where the bodies were found. _If_ they were found.”

Jinyoung runs a slender finger along the name of the last victim on file. Victoria Thomas, 18. “This can’t be everything there is to know.”

**12:27 pm, December 19th.**

“And d’you want chains put on the tires?” the rental garage attendant asks, eyes swinging lazily from the computer screen behind the desk to Jackson.

“Do we want _chains_ put on the _tires?_ ” Jackson repeats in confusion, glancing back at Jinyoung.

“We’ll need them, but don’t put them on please,” Jinyoung calls over, glancing up from his phone for a moment absent-mindedly. “We’ll be taking the highway first.”

“Give me ten minutes,” the attendant rattles off before retreating into the back.

“They still put chains on tires? For like, the snow?” Jackson asks as he wanders over to join Jinyoung by the window.

“And the ice. We shouldn’t use them on the highway but when we get onto smaller roads we’ll need them.” Jinyoung looks up at Jackson finally, offering him a tight teasing smile. “City boy.”

“Hey! I’ve been to… Texas…”

“Oh yes, El Paso. My mistake, that’s such a small town.”

“Why’d we have to get all this junk, Jinyoung?” Jackson whines, reaching a foot out to nudge one of the canvas grocery bags piled around Jinyoung. Before coming to the rental garage, Jinyoung had forcibly dragged Jackson into the grocery store across the street. “I’m sure they’d have stuff to eat there. I’ll have to do more expenditure reports now. Although it would be nice to catch up with Katie in finance.”

“This isn’t _junk_ Jackson, it’s food. Small towns aren’t exactly known for their well-stocked grocery stores.”

Crouching down, Jackson rummages in the grocery bags idly. Cans, cans, cans. They’d been heavy. Some fruit and vegetables, mostly frozen. Dry pasta. A knife. “A knife!” Jackson frowns up at Jinyoung. “Why do we need a knife?”

“To cut things up with?” Jinyoung answers, tucking his phone away and crossing his arms.

“Had to get special permissions to check all your fancy knives onto the plane,” Jackson grumbles under his breath, stuffing the heavily packaged knife back down into its bag.

“That one’s for vegetables.” Jinyoung pats the little suitcase beside him. “These are for _people_.” 

“What about a can opener?”

“We can use the knife to open cans.”

“Use the _knife_ to open _cans?_ Where did this rugged backcountry Jinyoungie come from?”

Jinyoung opens his mouth as if to retort, only to take a deep breath in and release it in a pensive sigh. His gaze drift away from Jackson, out the tall windows towards the black expanse of asphalt parking lot.

“Hey, is this him?”

The door to the parking lot opens, and a man steps in. With a slender face and dark sandy coloured hair, the stranger is wearing several light jackets fashionably layered against the cold. His eyes alight on Jinyoung and Jackson almost immediately, and he adjusts the bag over his shoulder as he walks over to them.

“You’re Agent Tuan?” Jackson asks, standing up to greet the handsome agent from L.A.

“Mark is fine. Prefered, even,” he says with an easy friendly grin, catching Jackson’s hand in a brisk handshake. 

“I’m Jackson Wang,” Jackson matches Mark’s smile with a relieved one of his own, before releasing his hand and bringing Jinyoung forward, “and this is Jinyoung, our medical examiner.”

Jinyoung shakes Mark’s hand with a more reserved smile. “Pleased to meet you. Is this all you’ve brought?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Mark answers with a shrug, clearly put off a bit by Jinyoung’s frostier demeanour. “Pack light.”

“No, I mean in terms of outerwear. No winter boots?” Jinyoung’s eyes flit down critically to Mark’s feet, then up to his face again. “No hat?”

Mark deflates a little. “I have… a cap?”

“You’ll be cold.”

“Don’t worry,” Mark says after an awkward pause, “I’m tougher than I look.”

“Your funeral.” Jinyoung shrugs, picking up his things and a grocery bag and trotting over to the attendant lurking in front of the counter. “Truck’s ready.”

Jackson catches Mark’s bewildered expression and leans over before he gets too offended. “Don’t worry, Jinyoung’s just…” _unfriendly_ , his mind supplies, “shy. It takes him a bit to warm up to new people.”

“Are you his mother?” Mark asks in the same conspiratorial tone, playing along. “Have you two worked together before?”

“Oh no, I’ve never worked with _any_ medical examiner before. It was a lot more paperwork than I’m used to, if I’m being honest! We’re friends!” Jackson finishes with a bright smile. “Met… five or six years ago I guess. This may or may not have been an excuse to spend Christmas together, but don’t put that in your report.”

“ _This_ is your idea of a fun Christmas holiday?” Mark asks incredulously.

Jinyoung reappears beside them, holding the keys to the truck. “That’s exactly what I said.”

Turning on his heel, Jinyoung heads out to the cherry red pickup truck now parked by the curb outside, and Mark follows after grabbing a grocery bag, shooting a bemused grin back at Jackson.

“Hey, come on,” Jackson protests, gathering the rest of their stuff and hurrying after them.

“Let’s see, there’s a troublingly unsolvable case,” Jinyoung says, climbing up into the bed of the truck, “the fact that we’re in Michigan in the winter, and we’re going to an isolated little speck on the map. A recipe for a perfect Christmas.”

“And a _murder_ ,” Mark adds.

“Yes but… think of the beautiful winter vistas!” Jackson hefts the grocery bags up to pass to Jinyoung. “Like a Christmas card come to life! The wildlife!”

“Oh yes, the _bears_ ,” Jinyoung agrees, pulling a tarpaulin over their bags and jumping down from the back. “I hear they’re especially beautiful up close.”

“I can drive,” Mark offers, foot already resting on the step up to the driver’s seat.

“Shotgun!” Jackson blurts, hurrying around to the other side of the truck. “And look at this lovely red truck! Now _that’s_ Christmas for you!”

Rolling his eyes, Jinyoung gets into the backseat without another comment. 

“Okay! Uh…” Jackson takes out the paper map Jinyoung insisted they buy, then sighs and shoves it into the backseat. “Jinyoung, you navigate! I have important road DJing to do!”

“We’re trying to make our way onto Highway 2,” Jinyoung informs Mark, folding the map neatly on his lap.

“Right,” Mark responds, pulling out of the parking lot confidently. Always a good sign. After a few moments of Jackson fiddling with the aux cable, Mark speaks again, “What’re you gonna play?”

“Mariah Carey,” Jinyoung says flatly, answering for Jackson. 

“…and?”

Jinyoung shakes his head and sighs. “Oh, just Mariah Carey.”

“As long as All I Want For Christmas is in the rotation, I’m down.”

Jackson shoots Jinyoung a smug look over his shoulder and starts the playlist.

**2:18 pm, December 19th.**

They aren’t even halfway to the resident agency in Marquette when the snow rolls in. It starts slow, and by the time the snow’s coming down in thick white flakes, the highway is nearly empty. In the whiteout conditions, Jinyoung suggests they cut out the middleman and go straight to Cliff’s Edge. Miraculously, they find the turnoff sign through the blowing snow, lit up like salvation by Jinyoung’s long-range flashlight. 

Obeying Jinyoung’s careful directions, Mark finally pulls to a shaky stop in front of a one-story log building. Jackson doesn’t remember the map being so detailed, but sure enough, an old sign reading “B n’ B” looms out of the accumulating snow, half-eaten by rust. The building itself doesn’t look much better, dismal and gloomy, with only a few weak lights beckoning them to the door.

“Are we sure this is a place that welcomes strangers?” Mark asks with a frown. He hasn’t pulled the keys out of the ignition “This feels like there’s a witch that’s going to eat us inside.”

“It says B n’ B,” Jinyoung says with a shrug, collecting his things and opening the door, “we’re hardly going to find any five star hotels out here.”

The backdoor slams behind Jinyoung and Jackson lets out a sigh. “Let’s just hope there’s no bedbugs.”

Once they’ve unloaded the rest of their bags from the back of the truck, Mark decisively strides towards the front door, followed by Jackson, and then Jinyoung. The lobby the three of them step into doesn’t instill in Jackson any greater sense of calm or relaxation, but he supposes a generous person could describe the decor as cozy. 

Jackson and Mark make their way over to the desk. A middle-aged woman sits behind it, wispy red hair pulled back tightly into a ponytail. The deep furrow line between her eyebrows makes it clear that her frown isn’t something she put on just for them.

“We don’t offer meals,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

“So it’s just one ‘B’,” Jackson jokes, leaning on the counter and offering her a friendly smile.

Her expression somehow turns even colder. “Eh?”

“Oh like…” Jackson lets his elbow slip off the counter awkwardly, “a B n’ B? Bed and breakfast? But it’s just one ‘B’ here. …Assuming you have beds.”

“‘Course we have beds. You all in one room? We only have doubles.” She scans a critical eye over the three of them.

“One room would be best,” Mark replies, unphased. “We’ll be working.”

“Working?”

Jackson unzips his coat to find his identification. “We’re here about the body, we’re-”

“You’re the FBI?” She eyes them up and down again, scrutinizing Jackson’s face and his ID picture. “Bit young, aren’t you? Sheriff Dupont wasn’t expecting you ‘til tomorrow.”

“We were supposed to drive up to Marquette first, but with the weather-”

“‘Course,” she interrupts, waving a bony hand dismissively. “I’ll give the Sheriff a ring tomorrow morning, let him know you’re here. I’m Veera Takala, owner of this place.”

For a moment she rummages under the desk, before procuring two room keys. “I only have two keys for you boys, but this is the biggest room. We’ll want you well-rested, if you’re gonna be any help. Last time they brought men in from out-of-town and a fat lot of help they were too. This thing’s sick and twisted, what could do all that to any child of god.”

“You were living here at the time?”

“Any townsfolk here now was here back then. Nobody new comes here to stay. People only ever leave,” Mrs. Takala tells them grimly. “My husband was one of the ones they never found, your bosses didn’t tell you that?”

“There wasn’t much information available to us,” Jackson says smoothly, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband, we’ll want to ask you some questions at a later point, if that’s alright?”

“Fine,” she grunts out with a shrug. “There’s a phone box out back if you need to make any calls. ‘Night.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jackson offers in a last-ditch attempt at being friendly.

“Same to you,” Ms. Takala calls back, and Jackson counts that as a win.

The hall is dimly lit and sparsely decorated, dull yellow carpet muting their footsteps as they make their way to their room at the very end of the hall. 

“Here we go,” Mark says, using one of the keys to unlock the door with the number 7 carved into the wood.

The three of them lurk in the doorway for a moment while Mark reaches into the dark room for the lightswitch.

“Aren’t you gonna take your stuff off?” Jackson asks Jinyoung, who’s still wrapped up with his scarf over his face and hat pulled down.

Before Jinyoung can reply, Mark lets out a pained cry, and pulls his hand back towards himself. A dull thud comes from inside the room.

“What is it?” Jackson asks, heart thumping nervously as he reaches his hand out to Mark in concern.

Ignoring any possible danger, Jinyoung leans past the two of them and steps into the room, reaching for the light switch on the other side of the door. The overhead light flickers on, revealing a very brown and beige room.

Still cradling his hand, Mark walks into the room towards the adjoining bathroom. Jinyoung and Jackson cast their curious eyes across the windowsill where Mark was feeling for the lightswitch. It’s empty aside from thick beige curtains drawn across it. On the similarly coloured carpet, a hefty metal crucifix sits.

“This must have fallen,” Jackson says, fingers drifting over a pale absence of dust on the windowsill that matches the base of the crucifix.

Expecting a clever remark from Jinyoung about using his FBI skills to connect the clues, Jackson watches in confusion as Jinyoung snatches the crucifix up from the floor without a word. Tight-lipped, he marches over to one of the bedside tables and wrenches out the drawer. He drops the crucifix in the drawer with a clatter, to lie alongside the bible, and closes it sharply.

“I can make dinner,” Jinyoung says then breezily, spinning on his heel and moving towards the kitchenette.

“Okay,” Jackson agrees easily, feeling off-kilter. He lets his gaze drift to Mark. “Is your hand okay?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Mark replies, smiling dismissively. “I must have just touched the window pane. It was so cold I thought I burned myself.”

“Okay,” Jackson repeats. He watches as Mark walks over to join Jinyoung in the kitchenette. 

“Mark, are you allergic to anything?” Jinyoung calls from where he’s unpacking and storing their food.

“Onions and garlic, why?”

Jinyoung shoots him an unimpressed look. “So I don’t accidentally poison you?”

Shaking himself out of the weird sense of unease that had come over him, Jackson takes a proper look around the room. By the kitchenette sits a sizable round dining table with four chairs. Like Ms. Takala had said, there are only two beds, each with a wrought iron bedframe and ugly old quilt, but there’s also a reasonably sized beige couch near the back, by the hallway to the bathroom.

“Hey, what are we going to do about sleeping arrangements?” Jackson calls over to Mark and Jinyoung, interrupting any discussions about dinner.

“One of us can take the couch?” Mark suggests, glancing about like Jackson had.

Jackson wanders over to the couch and tests it, stretching himself out on it with a grimace. The metal springs dig into his back painfully, and he sits up with a frown. “So which one of us can afford to permanently injure our back and/or neck?”

“It’s that bad?”

“Why don’t we take turns each night?” Jinyoung says without looking away from his task at hand.

“Rock paper scissors for it!” Jackson crows, sitting up even straighter and holding a fist out. “Loser takes the couch tonight!”

Jinyoung lets out a long suffering sigh and turns to Mark. “I promise he’s actually an adult under there. He even has a job as an FBI agent. They let him carry a gun and everything.”

“I suppose you have a better idea?” Jackson huffs over Mark’s snort of amusement.

Rolling his eyes, Jinyoung turns to face Jackson, leaning his back against the counter and offering his fist. Mark shrugs and does the same. 

“Rock, paper, scissors,” Jackson cries gleefully, and promptly loses the first round. Face falling, he sticks his hand out again. “Best two out of three?”

“Nope,” Jinyoung says with a pleased little smile, returning to dinner. “The couch is all yours tonight, Jackson.”

Pouting, Jackson throws himself back against the couch with his arms crossed, flinching when his back hits the hard springs again. Intending to give them the cold shoulder, he takes out his phone.

“Oh. I’m guessing there’s no cell service here,” Jackson mumbles idly from his spot on the couch, holding his phone aloft fruitlessly. “My phone’s as useful as a rock with games on it right now.”

Mark pulls his own sleek phone out of his pocket and checks it, only to scowl down at it in disappointment. “Same. How do people live like this?”

Jinyoung sets a few cans out on the counter and begins unpackaging the knife. “With difficulty, I imagine.”

After their early dinner, they sit around the little dining table and go over the sparse file once again.

“The file says locals call the killer “surma”. Among the local community there’s speculation about whether the deaths and disappearances are a human’s doings or something,” Mark looks at them with comically widened eyes, “spookier…” 

Leaning over, Jackson frowns down at his own copy of the case file. “What’s it called?”

Mark’s eyes flit down to check the file again. “ _Surma_. I’d look it up, but.”

“Right,” Jackson sighs, gazing forlornly at their useless phones sitting in a little pile on the table. 

“ _Surma_ is a mythological dog,” Jinyoung says suddenly, voice clipped and quiet, almost begrudging. “ _Surman suuhun_.”

“Soorm-” Jackson parrots, trying to roll the r the way Jinyoung had. He raises an eyebrow skeptically. “They think a dog did this?”

“Not just some random dog. He guards the underworld and turns people to stone.”

“Oh, with three heads?” Jackson asks, snapping his fingers.

“No,” Jinyoung replies flatly, not looking up from the file. “Where’s the body being kept?”

“The body’s at the doctor’s surgery,” Mark answers, before smiling grimly. “Which apparently is also the same building as the mortician’s office.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jackson shivers. What’s with this place? “God, why?”

Jinyoung shrugs, looking more resigned than anything. A tiny amused smile flits across his face. “Don’t have to go very far if the doctor’s not any good at his job.”

**9:26 am, December 20th.**

It’s still snowing when they wake up the next morning, and after breakfast, the local sheriff arrives in his truck. Jinyoung is tidying up in the kitchen when there’s a knock on the door to the hall, and he fumbles the mug he’s washing with a clatter of ceramic. 

“You okay?” Jackson calls as Mark goes for the door.

“I… I’m alright,” Jinyoung says quietly, curling his shoulders in like he’s cold or in pain. “I just, I don’t feel well all of the sudden. Go ahead without me, please.”

With that, Jinyoung brushes softly past Jackson down the tiny hall to the bathroom. Jackson hesitates for a moment, watching Jinyoung until the bathroom door closes firmly behind him. He strains his ears for any clues about Jinyoung’s ailment, but too quickly, Mark is showing the sheriff in.

“Good to meet you boys,” the sheriff is saying, shaking Mark’s hand, when Jackson comes into earshot. He’s an imposing man in his puffy winter jacket, a large greying beard overtaking the bottom of his face. “I’m Louis Dupont, sheriff.”

“Jackson Wang, it’s good to meet you too,” Jackson greets, shaking the sheriff’s hand firmly. “Sorry, our medical examiner is feeling a bit under the weather.”

“That’s alright. The cold can be a bit of a shock to the system if you’re not used to it.”

“What can you tell us that’s not in the file?” Mark asks.

“Ah well, there’s a lot not in the file. Some law men from out of town were brought in when bodies started turning up, and they wanted everything by the book. In a town like this though, there’s not much in the way of books. Only word of mouth.”

“Rumours,” Mark supplies disparagingly.

Sheriff Dupont raises his bushy eyebrows and chuckles. “That’s fair to say, there’s plenty of those. You ought to talk to Édith Richard, our schoolteacher. Some of the local kids at the time were suspected to be involved.”

“ _Kids?_ ”

“Teenagers,” Sheriff Dupont corrects himself, voice dropping in disapproval. “Édith will tell it best, she knew the lot of them. Let me drive you boys over to the old schoolhouse.”

“Let me just leave a note-” Jackson grabs a piece of notepaper from their table and offers it to the sheriff. “Would you mind writing directions to the doctor’s? That’s where the body is being kept, right? I’ll leave it in case he’s feeling better.”

“Ah, it’s simple enough to get there, mind he doesn’t go on foot though.” Taking the paper, the sheriff draws a few lines to indicate roads, creating a little map. “Doctor Lim has prepared space in the old mortician's to work in.”

“Thanks,” Jackson says with a smile, “let me tell him, I’ll meet you two outside!”

As Sheriff Dupont leads Mark outside, Jackson knocks on the door to the bathroom. 

“Jinyoung?” Jackson pauses, hoping Jinyoung’s listening. “We’re heading out now, to talk to the schoolteacher. I’m leaving a little note on the table with directions to the doctor’s, if you’re feeling better later and want to get stuck in, okay?”

“Okay,” Jinyoung’s voice comes faintly through the door. “Sorry, I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.”

“Don’t worry, just take it easy! And don’t go anywhere on foot in the storm!”

“Got it.”

Reassured, Jackson hurries after Mark and the sheriff, leaving a key behind for Jinyoung.

The drive is quiet at first, Jackson and Mark peering out their windows, trying to catch sight of anything in the snow. They’re driving through what must be the town centre, when Jackson finally breaks the silence.

“Are all these buildings empty?” To Mark and Jackson, it’s a strange sight. The wooden fronts of half-decrepit buildings loom out of the snow like great beasts with pallid and peeling coats of paint. 

“Not all. But most. Not much keeping this town afloat.”

“Mrs. Takala said people leave Cliff’s Edge a lot,” Jackson says, watching the buildings give way to snowy trees again.

“Nothing keeping people here either. We’re just passing where the church was now. On your right,” the sheriff nods with his head out the right side of the truck.

Through the blowing snow, it’s difficult to see anything at all, ground and trees covered in white. But as Sheriff Dupont slows the truck down, Mark and Jackson catch sight of the black shards of scorched wood jutting out of the snow.

“It won’t be in that file of yours, but when the church burned down, that was when the deaths stopped,” the sheriff continues, driving away from the remains of the church.

“You think it was connected? Was it arson?”

“Ah well, there were a number of rumours around at the time. The good reverend died in the fire, you see. He lived in his residence behind the church. Him and his orphan nephew that he took in. Good man, the reverend. At first we thought his nephew died in the fire too, but his body was never found. People thought _surma_ got him too, people thought he was behind it all. Some even said he set the fire and ran. Either way, he was a disturbed kid. Can’t say anyone in town missed him.”

Mark glances over his shoulder to exchange a look with Jackson. Though he can’t speak for Mark, Jackson feels like this mysterious kid is almost _too_ good of a suspect, like a child possessed by the devil in a horror movie. Before either of them can pick up the topic again, the truck is stopping.

“We’re here,” Sheriff Dupont announces.

The schoolhouse is an old grey brick building, shabby but not as derelict as other buildings they’ve seen. One step leads up to the front door, and a stout older woman in a pale pink dress stands on it to wait for them.

“Boys, this is Ms. Édith Richard, our old schoolteacher,” Sheriff Dupont says, only for Ms. Richard to frown and reach over to swat his arm.

“ _Old?_ ”

“Not in years,” the sheriff corrects himself.

“I don’t teach anymore, y’see,” Ms. Richard turns to Jackson and Mark. “Not enough kids left in town to run the school. So many of the young families left for greener pastures. Bigger cities.”

“Édith, these are the agents, from the FBI.”

“Bit young, aren’t you?” Ms. Richard asks, giving them a cheeky smile and a wink. “No matter, I’ll take good care of them for you, Louis.”

“Then I’ll be back to pick you two up in about an hour,” Sheriff Dupont tells them, walking to the door. “Now don’t try to walk on back in this weather. Don’t want two city kids getting vanished on us too, ‘specially no FBI agents. If _surma_ don’t get you, the snow will.”

“Right,” Jackson agrees, grinning awkwardly. The local manner is completely foreign to him, some bizzare mix of friendly and deeply off-putting. Their willingness to believe in some inhuman beast roaming their little town is disconcerting to say the least, filling Jackson’s stomach with the heavy weight of dread.

Ms. Richard leads them inside, closing the door firmly against the cold. The main room of the schoolhouse is full of desks and chairs lined up like soldiers, their wooden surfaces old and worn but dust-free. In a corner by the blackboard, a small tree stands, decorated for Christmas. The familiar sight reassures Jackson, warmed by the cheer in the old school room.

“You boys want some tea? Cocoa? Something stronger? Come through!” Ms. Richard asks, bustling off into another room.

They follow her into a smaller room, with a kitchenette and a washer/dryer, and sit down at the small table she gestures to. Like the first room, it’s well maintained.

“You live here?” Jackson asks incredulously.

“Oh good heavens, no!” Ms. Richard swats her hand as if to bat away the notion. “I just come by to keep the building tidy every once and a while. There’s enough buildings ‘round here left to rot.”

“Sheriff Dupont suggested we talk to you about the older rash of deaths,” Mark cuts in neatly. “The information we have on file is very spotty.”

“Of course. Well, let’s see. Tourists go missing all the time around here, so not much was thought of the out-of-towners vanishing at first. Then when Veera Takala’s husband went missing, some people thought the townspeople were in danger too. Now I don’t want to gossip, but I always thought he went and walked out on her.

“Thought maybe it was a rogue bear. Then bodies started turning up. No natural creature could have done what those people had done to them. One of them was found right outside the schoolhouse, on the hill round the back! It was an ungodly sight, pale as stone. That was the second body found, when people started thinking it was one of my students doing it. And James—god rest his soul, he was sheriff before Louis—had law men from out of town brought in.

“But the bodies kept turning up places. Never the same place. The last one… was one of my dear girls…”

Jackson purses his lips, eyes widening sympathetically. “Your daughter?”

“Oh heavens no, I never married!” Ms. Richard swats the air again, breaking out of her sombre tone with a laugh. “One of my students. Little Victoria Thomas.”

“The sheriff mentioned that some of the youth at the time were suspected. They were your students?”

“Oh yes of course. Nowhere else for them to go to school ‘round here. There were some that thought old Doctor Lim’s boy might have something to do with it, he was such a stubborn brash thing, always losing his temper, and a violent temper it was too. But he’s grown up into such a lovely young man, he replaced his father at the local surgery, went all the way to Detroit to study but he still came back to Cliff’s Edge! He and another of my girls, Simone, they were childhood sweethearts! Married now, oh yes, he’s grown up so well! No children yet. I wouldn’t want to gossip, but there might be some fertility issues there. A fine young couple like them!”

“Were there any others under suspicion?”

“Oh yes. Not at first, but for my part, I _always_ knew there was something not quite right about that boy. Reverend Park’s nephew.”

“ _Park?_ ” Jackson parrots, dread coiling in his stomach. Puzzle pieces in his head shiver, close to fitting together.

“Oh yes, it was just terrible what happened to the good father,” Ms. Richard carries on. “That boy of his was sick in the head, I’m telling you. Such a skinny thing, always trailing after the Lim boy like a little shadow. He was never liked by any of the other kids, barely spoke a word of English when he first got here. The way he looked at you… he had such black soulless eyes. Now I wouldn’t want to gossip, but when he was a boy he was suspected of killing animals, even pets, and doing _sick_ experiments on their corpses.

“I was so frightened, I couldn’t teach them anymore! After the body that was found here, I had to ask Pietari—he was schoolteacher before me—to teach again. I couldn’t face that boy, I knew he would do something terrible. After dear Victoria was found, those men from out of town finally interviewed all the students properly. Everyone knew that Park boy did it, but the men from out of town said there wasn’t enough _evidence_ ,” she spits out the word venomously, before remembering herself and smiling sweetly at them both. “The whole town mourned the church, and the good Reverend Park. To think if they had listened to me and taken that boy in, our church might still be standing…”

Mark glances at Jackson, only to find him stricken silent. “Do you know…” Mark takes a steadying breath, “what this boy’s full name is? How old he’d be now?”

“Oh let’s see, why he’d be just the same age as Doctor Lim of course, and Simone and Alisa. About your age, such fine young men! Now what was his name? Something foreign—ah yes! Why, it was Jinyoung, of course! Jinyoung Park.”

**11:05 am, December 20th.**

“ _Jinyoung?_ ”

“Alisa?”

Stepping out from behind her desk, Alisa Mesikämmen looks much the same as Jinyoung remembers her, tall and slender, her blonde hair braided prettily down her back. She smiles brightly at him in disbelief, and Jinyoung falters where he stands just inside the door of the doctor’s surgery. A friendly smile was the last thing Jinyoung was expecting from anyone in Cliff’s Edge.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it’s you! What are you even doing here?”

“I’m… I’m actually with the FBI agents, I don’t know if you heard,” Jinyoung mumbles, knowing that of course she heard. Something like the FBI coming in, the whole town would know within the day. Feeling awkward and fifteen again, Jinyoung fumbles for his ID to show Alisa. “I’m the medical examiner.”

“Wow,” Alisa says, glancing between his face and the ID with a dazed smile. “You look so different. But still… like Jinyoung. This is so crazy.”

“You work here now?”

“I sure do,” Alisa smooths her skirt down primly. “Doctor Lim has to do a lot of house calls now, with so few people living in town, so I’m here to answer the phone!”

“Is Doctor Lim here?”

“Of course- oh.” Alisa’s face falls, and she pauses in her step. She offers Jinyoung a tight smile that seems almost pitying. “You won’t have heard. You haven’t been in contact with anyone here, have you?”

“No.”

“Jaebeom’s father died a few years ago. Hit a tree while he was driving.”

“I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” The silence hangs heavy and awkward between them for a moment. “But I don’t understand. My colleagues were told Doctor Lim-”

“Oh well there _is_ a Doctor Lim here,” Alisa’s eager smile returns, quickly brushing aside the heavier topic, “it’s Jaebeom of course!”

“Oh.” Jinyoung’s chest feels hollowed out in horror. Blindsided again. He tries to keep his face clear, but he must look at least surprised, because Alisa laughs.

“A lot has happened,” Alisa stops herself oddly, gulping down her next words. _since you left_. “Well, not really _a lot_ a lot. But yeah, Jaebeom is our doctor now, oh, and he and Simone got married, you probably didn’t know that either…”

“Is she here too?”

“Oh no, actually just this past September Simone decided to go back to school! She’s off in Detroit getting her degree. Jaebeom’s been in such funny moods since she left, I think he misses her. Of course he never took people leaving well.” Alisa’s face falls, suddenly realizing what she said. Her blue eyes bore into Jinyoung’s apologetically, and she stumbles out her next words. “Anyway. That body’s not gonna examine itself!”

Turning, Alisa knocks on a heavy wooden door to the right of her desk and opens it. “Jaebeom,” she calls, whirling around the corner into the next room, “you will _never_ guess who they sent.”

“Who? What are you talking about?” Jaebeom’s voice comes, familiar and unfamiliar all at once. The cadence is the same, speaking like he can’t be bothered to open his mouth properly and let the words out, but his voice is deeper than Jinyoung remembers it.

“The FBI! The medical examiner is here I mean, that the FBI sent, and you’ll never guess-”

Jinyoung interrupts Alisa by stepping around the corner into the room. He catches a glimpse of the room, the same doctor’s office he remembers Jaebeom’s father sitting in, but it quickly falls away as he catches sight of Jaebeom, standing behind his desk.

Like Alisa had said of Jinyoung, Jaebeom looks the same, and yet so changed from the boy Jinyoung knew. 

Jinyoung recognizes the sharp nose and brooding dark eyes, cut into a face made of cool marble. Gone are the familiar marks of teenage acne, the fat cheeks of childhood. Jaebeom’s black hair is parted elegantly, and the rebellious piercings he was so proud of no longer line his ears. His body has grown too, broad-shouldered and straight-backed, but Jinyoung can’t let his mind drift there.

Across the room, this unfamiliar Jaebeom seems so far from Jinyoung. They’re strangers now, and the distance is only lengthened by the cool contempt in Jaebeom’s eyes. 

The phone in the other room lets out a shrill ring suddenly, startling Jinyoung, just before the silence in the room becomes unsettlingly tense. 

“Oh shoot,” Alisa says, frowning like she wanted to stay and watch the trainwreck, before ducking back out into the foyer.

“Close the door.”

Jinyoung moves to obey Jaebeom before he realizes what he’s doing, gritting his teeth in annoyance as the door clicks shut.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m the medical examiner. With the FBI,” Jinyoung replies stiffly, like Alisa hadn’t just said exactly that.

“I thought they would source someone locally.”

Feeling a flush of hot indignation, Jinyoung lifts a brow challengingly, keeping his eyes cool. “Aren’t I local?”

Jaebeom’s eyes flicker, as if a spark of argument is lit, then quickly extinguished. “Let me show you to the body.”

That’s fine. Jinyoung can be professional too. Drawing himself up, he steps back to let Jaebeom lead the way.

With another knock, Alisa pops her head in. “Sorry, Mr. Vanhanen is complaining about chest pains again. I told him you’d be along soon.”

Somehow, Jaebeom’s face turns even stonier, and he nods. “Let me just show Mr. Park to the body.”

Alisa shoots Jinyoung a bewildered look but he doesn’t respond, too busy pointedly _not_ glaring daggers at Jaebeom. What is his problem? Normally, Jinyoung would correct anyone who disrespectfully exchanged “Doctor” for “Mr.”, but he doesn’t want to make a scene in front of Alisa.

They follow Alisa out into the foyer again, then Jaebeom leads Jinyoung out the back door of the surgery, into the cold again. Behind the surgery is a familiar swath of woods, and the old ice shed shared with the mortician’s. Kitty corner to the surgery’s back door is the mortician’s back door, long since out of use.

Jaebeom unlocks the door to the mortician’s after fumbling with the many keys on his keyring, and shoves it open with his shoulder, promptly forgetting his keys in the keyhole. The body is laid out, surrounded by blocks of ice.

“You put this ice here?” Jinyoung asks.

“No other way of keeping it,” Jaebeom explains, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Everything has been cleaned and sanitized. If you need anything, just ask Alisa, she knows what’s around.”

“Thank you,” Jinyoung says crisply, taking the keys out of the door and offering them to Jaebeom. When Jaebeom tries to take them as he brushes by, Jinyoung holds on, pulling Jaebeom’s attention back onto him in confusion. Silently, Jaebeom tugs on the keys for a moment, and Jinyoung revels in the first sign of familiar emotion on Jaebeom’s face. Finally, he continues in a deceptively serene voice, “And, it’s _Doctor_ Park, please.”

Releasing his hold, Jinyoung watches as Jaebeom snatches his hand away like Jinyoung burned him, nearly snarling as he turns and storms out of the open door. 

Then with a cruel thrill of superiority, Jinyoung sets his bag down and gets to work.

**2:48 pm, December 20th.**

Mark and Jackson sit on the single step of the schoolhouse, side-by-side. The snow has stopped, and Sheriff Dupont is late. In Jackson’s gloved hand, he holds an old photograph as delicately as he can, remembering the names of the teenagers as Ms. Richard had pointed each one out to them.

The very black and soulless eyes Ms. Richard spoke about stare out at them from the photograph. It’s Jinyoung, _his_ Jinyoung, without a doubt. He’s skinny and as miserably dour looking as a Victorian child sitting for a photograph, but unmistakable. They all look quite solemn, with only two of the girls smiling wanly. Alisa Mesikämmen, gangly and flaxen-haired, who works now as the receptionist at the doctor’s surgery according to Ms. Richard. And Victoria Thomas, sensible and mousy in a thick lumpy cardigan, the sixth victim of the mysterious _surma_.

The other two stare out as coldly as Jinyoung, Simone Rousseau as poised as a marble statue, and Jaebeom Lim slouched and thunderous. Every adult they’ve met in this town has unnerved Jackson, in a way he’s not used to. But there is something that seems truly sinister about the group of teens in the picture, to the point that a chill runs down Jackson’s spine just to lock eyes with any of their frozen stares. Even Jinyoung’s. 

Finally Mark breaks the silence, snapping Jackson out of the strange trance he’s in. Staring at the dark photograph for so long, Jackson winces at the bright light reflecting off the white snow when he looks up. 

“How much do you know about Jinyoung?” Mark asks, tone carefully neutral. Professional.

“I…” Jackson’s voice wavers unsteadily. “I _know_ Jinyoung.”

“But not that he came from here? That he came from…” Mark gestures indiscriminately at the photo in Jackson’s hands, the schoolhouse behind them, “all this?”

“You can know a person without knowing every intimate detail of their childhood! When I was seven I fell out of a tree and broke my ankle. Jinyoung doesn’t know that about me.” Jackson takes a breath, trying to clear his mind. The cold air only stings in his nose and numbs his head. “Okay, he does know that. But I talk. I’m a sharer. Jinyoung’s… private.”

“Yeah, I wonder why…” Mark grumbles, rolling his eyes irritably. “He hid his face from Mrs. Takala. Made excuses to not be in the room when Sheriff Dupont arrived.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s _guilty_ ,” Jackson protests, tugging Mark’s arm to get his attention. “Mark, please, I _know_ Jinyoung, you’ve gotta believe me. He’s not a murderer, for god’s sake!”

“You’ve never met… anyone from his life? No family? Old friends?”

“I’m his oldest friend.” Jackson hesitates. He doesn’t want to throw more suspicion on Jinyoung, but already, he trusts Mark. “I’m one of his _only_ friends. He’s a very private person, Mark. He doesn’t have any family. Just Nora.”

“His cat,” Mark says flatly, frowning.

“Hey, she counts!” Jackson sighs, breath fogging up the air in front of them. White mist in a bleak white landscape. “I always… I always got the idea that things have been rough for him. In the past. Having to put himself through school. No support system. That sort of thing.”

“I mean, this seems pretty rough, yeah. I’ll give him that.”

Hoping the subject has been put to rest, Jackson huddles his knees closer to his chest, and doesn’t say anything more. It’s not until the sheriff arrives, half an hour late, that Jackson realizes Mark hasn’t let it go.

“What can you tell us about Jinyoung, Reverend Park’s nephew?” Mark asks Sheriff Dupont as they pass the church ruins on their way back. “You mentioned him, and Ms. Richard had a few things to say too.”

“Ah, the Park boy was a good suspect for the Thomas girl’s murder. Could’ve just copied the other killings. But as for the others…” the sheriff shakes his head, beard twitching with a frown, “the Park boy was a sickly-looking little kid. Some of them, they were big, strong men. Like Veera Takala’s husband. Working men. A weak boy couldn’t have overcome them.”

“Multiple killers, then?”

“Maybe. There was something awful strange about the bodies. That’s how we knew it was connected, that body we found the other day. Wasn’t as much of a mess, but there’s an unholy feeling about it. We only had Doctor Lim back then—Lim senior mind you—and he had his hands full, raising up that boy of his. Maybe this medical examiner of yours can get this sorted for us, but I doubt it. What did this… it’s no creature of god, man or beast.”

With the sheriff’s foreboding words still ringing in their heads, Mark and Jackson bid him goodbye. Distracted by his thoughts, Jackson follows Mark into the building.

Though he is usually a practical man, Jackson can’t help but wonder if there is some truth to the local belief of something more sinister being afoot. Even the way Ms. Richard had spoken of Jinyoung—like he was some kind of devil child. Jackson sighs, bracing for the conversation waiting for them behind the door to their room as Mark unlocks it and enters.

“Fuck, he’s gone!” Mark calls, and Jackson hurries into the room. The bathroom door is open, and as Mark said, Jinyoung is nowhere to be seen.

“He’s gone,” Mark repeats, anger rising as he casts about as if Jinyoung will have left glaring clues. “The fucking truck was gone, he took- Great.”

“He’s not _gone_ gone,” Jackson says levelly. “His clothes and stuff are still here. It’s just his bag he took. He-”

“He’s gone to the surgery,” Mark interrupts sharply, picking up a note from the table, where Jackson had left the directions to the doctor’s. “He left a note saying he’s feeling better and he’s going to the surgery to start the external examination. That he’s taken the truck.”

“Well that’s… not _bad_ …?” 

“Jackson, he’s a suspect, he shouldn’t be anywhere _near_ the body,” Mark responds harshly, pushing past Jackson and going back into the hall. “I’m gonna get the sheriff back here.”

Dazed, Jackson sits at the round dining table. Its surface is strewn with what little information they have, and he drops the photograph Ms. Richard gave them on top with a sigh. Somehow, his mind blanks out, relieving him of the trepidatious task of thinking about Jinyoung.

Mark comes slamming back into the room fifteen minutes later. 

“So I can’t get ahold of him. Tried the phone box, I even asked if there was another phone I could try. Nothing. We’re stranded here, and it’s snowing again!” Mark throws himself down on the sofa. It creaks in protest and he winces, stretching his back as he is immediately reminded of how uncomfortable it is. “I fucking hate this place.”

“I mean it sheds a bit of light on why Jinyoung would want to leave, right?” Jackson offers weakly. As much as he only wants to lighten the atmosphere, everything Jackson’s seen and heard of the town does elicit sympathy in him. Even as visitors, everything is isolating yet stifling all at once. Living here, without clear means of escape, must have been a nightmare.

Contemplatively, Jackson pulls the photograph towards him again. The teens stare balefully out at him, but this time Jackson doesn’t feel the fear the adults of the town must have felt, the distrust of the rebellious youth. He feels a deep sympathy for them. Perhaps it’s only his bias, growing up in a big city, but growing up here sounds like a death sentence to him. Swallowing, he realizes it was for one of them. And the others? Shackled to the town. But not Jinyoung. Was escaping so difficult he had to do something terrible to get out?

Suddenly Jackson is overcome with the need to find Jinyoung. He had been hesitating, frightened by the questions cropping up and the answers they might find by chasing them down. But the thought of Jinyoung alone in this town, just as ominous as the deaths which plague it, fills Jackson with urgency. He had wanted to take Jinyoung away, a change of pace in a sweet little snowy town, twinkling with Christmas lights. Instead he dragged Jinyoung down into this tangled web and trapped him.

“There’s no other rides we can hitch? Mrs. Takala doesn’t have a truck?”

“She says the snow means there’s another storm rolling in. That we’d better just turn in.” Mark lurches forward to lean his elbows on his knees, fixing Jackson with a piercing gaze. “Was Jinyoung the one who insisted on being assigned to this case?”

“What…? No? No, not at all.” Jackson frowns at the accusation, then at the guilt welling up in his chest. Running a hand through his short hair, Jackson sighs. “I practically… I practically forced him to come. He probably would have refused, but I only told him we were coming to Cliff’s Edge specifically on the plane. He trusted me.”

“And now one of the main suspects has access to the body without supervision.”

Jackson sighs again, frustrated, it grates in his throat. “We’ve talked to _two_ people Mark. Sheriff Dupont even said there wasn’t enough evidence against Jinyoung or any of the other teens! We’ve only heard the speculation of… of a small-minded gossipy schoolteacher! Besides, he’s not unsupervised. Doctor Lim is there-”

“Oh yeah, great,” Mark scoffs. “Another suspect.”

Feeling cornered and annoyed, Jackson doesn’t respond. He looks down into the doleful black eyes of the Jinyoung in the photograph, and hopes the Jinyoung _he_ knows will make it through the storm.

**6:57 pm, December 20th.**

Outside the doctor’s surgery, the snow swirls dizzyingly in the dark. Jinyoung sits by a window in the foyer, looking not outside, but at the delicate ice pattern like lace in the corners of the windowpane. Jackson and Mark surely know everything by now. 

The unfamiliar space had meant Jinyoung’s external examination took longer than usual. Alone, the snow and late hour would make for a dangerous trip back. But coupled with the questions Jackson and Mark will surely have for Jinyoung upon his return, the thought of going back is even more frightening.

“Maybe you should stay the night here,” Alisa offers, startling Jinyoung. “I just live upstairs, and I have a pretty comfy sofa.”

“Can I try calling them?” Jinyoung asks, gesturing to the phone on her desk, knowing it will be entirely futile. 

“You can _try_.”

As expected, the line can’t connect to anything, so Jinyoung slides the phone receiver back into its cradle with a sigh.

“I’m sure it will clear up by tomorrow morning,” Alisa says, stepping up beside Jinyoung and gesturing with a jerk of her head for him to follow.

“Does Jaebeom live here too?”

“Oh no. Just this way.” Alisa unlocks a door hidden in the shadows behind the front desk, revealing a staircase leading up. “He and Simone live in an actual house, farther out. Of course Simone’s in Detroit right now. Did I mention? She’s studying finance!”

“Oh yes, good for her,” Jinyoung responds robotically, unsure how he’s meant to feel about that. Alisa seems to be proud of Simone’s accomplishments like they’re her own, but Jinyoung can’t muster up the same enthusiasm. His feelings towards Simone were always complicated, and despite not seeing her for several years, they have only become more tangled.

Up the stairs is another door that Alisa unlocks, and it swings open to reveal a modest living room and kitchen, along with a couple doors to other rooms. Old wood paneling covers the walls and cupboards, gleaming in the orange glow of the overhead light she flicks on. In a little alcove by the window facing the road, a few hearty branches of spruce sit in a vase, wrapped in strings of plastic silver tinsel. A nativity scene with little clothespin dolls is spread out beneath it.

“It’s not much, but it’s mine.” Alisa laughs awkwardly, wringing her hands in front of her. “Well, it’s not _mine_ , it’s Jaebeom’s, legally speaking. But I live here.”

“I can see it’s a well cared for home,” Jinyoung says kindly, giving Alisa a soft smile.

“Thank you.” Alisa smiles in return, bashfully, her cheeks pinking. “Let me get something on to eat. Please sit.”

A tiny dining table with two seats is crammed up against the kitchen divider, so Jinyoung sits there, folding his hands neatly atop the table. He watches Alisa as she nervously bangs about her kitchen, opening and closing cupboards at random. She seems on edge, fumbling and confused in her own space.

“Alisa?”

She starts at the sound of his voice, glancing over her shoulder for a moment. “Yes?”

“Aren’t you… afraid?” Jinyoung asks her carefully. “Of me? Of being alone with me?”

“Why would I be?”

“Because the whole town thought I was a murderer, last time I checked. Because from what I read in the file, there wasn’t another victim after Victoria. So I left town, and the deaths stopped. Now there’s another murder and I show up again?” Jinyoung can’t help the agitated lilt to his voice. “That doesn’t concern you?”

“Are you okay with a microwave dinner?” Alisa asks like she didn’t hear Jinyoung at all, turning and holding up two orange-red boxes. “I have lasagna or mac n’ cheese.”

“Either is fine.”

Nodding, Alisa returns to her preparations, unpackaging the dinners. Finally, she says, “It wasn’t the _whole_ town.”

“It may as well have been.”

“ _I_ didn’t think it was you. Jaebeom didn’t, Simone didn’t. I know that’s not much, but… that’s why I’m not afraid.” Alisa jams both dinners into the microwave and sets it to run for five minutes. “Besides, you’re here because you’re working with the FBI. You _are_ working with the FBI, right?”

“I am. But you have no way of knowing if I’m lying or not.”

“Jinyoung.” Alisa turns and puts her hands on her hips scoldingly. “Do you _want_ me to kick you out in the middle of the night, in the snow?”

“No,” Jinyoung says, looking sheepishly down at the faded white tablecloth beneath his hands.

“Then shut up. I’m telling you I don’t think you’re the murderer.”

“Do you think it’s the same person? Thing?”

“Do I think _surma_ is back?” Alisa shrugs again. “Isn’t that your job?”

“I can’t discuss the details of the case-” Jinyoung rattles off out of habit, before Alisa interrupts him with a laugh and an eyeroll.

“You’re the one who brought it up! Look, let me run and get changed, get you some blankets for the sofa.” Alisa takes a few steps away towards one of the doors. “Can you watch the dinner, make sure my microwave doesn’t blow up?”

Without waiting for his answer, she dips into the other room and shuts the door behind her. Feeling even more awkwardly out of place than usual, Jinyoung watches the microwave dinners turn with the eyes of a hawk. Listlessly, his mind drifts to Jackson and Mark, and wonders what will face him tomorrow when they finally chase him down. He hopes between the two of them they can scrounge up something for their dinner.

The microwave beeps insistently, calling Alisa back into the room, and she silently plates the two pieces of lasagna. 

They eat in silence, until Alisa blurts out, “Jinyoung I’m… I’m so glad you got out. I always hoped… because Reverend Park’s truck was gone, and people were saying some of your stuff was taken… I always hoped you had just left. And look at you!”

Jinyoung nods, unsure of exactly what she means.

“I’ve already told you all five things that happened here since you left, so tell me about what you’ve been up to! Mr. Bigshot Medical Examiner!”

“There’s no such thing as a bigshot medical examiner,” Jinyoung says with an embarrassed smile.

“Do you have a girlfriend? Or—married, even?!”

“No. I have a cat, Nora.”

“That’s sweet. I’m sure you have lots of options though,” Alisa says, propping her chin on her hand and sighing dreamily. “I’m basically an old maid now myself. You know, Simone and Jaebeom get to be a handsome young couple, but I don’t have a husband, so around here I’m as good as an eighty-year-old spinster.”

“How are they? I mean, besides what you’ve told me. When did they marry?”

“After you left, probably within the year.”

Jinyoung bites the inside of his lip, forcing his expression to stay neutral. It had been bad enough, hearing that Jaebeom had ended up with Simone after all. Jaebeom got on with his life and grew and let himself be happy. If Jinyoung was a good person, that would be enough. But some part of him wanted Jaebeom to be broken-hearted, to really _miss_ him the way Jinyoung had missed Jaebeom. 

What if Jinyoung hadn’t left? So many times, when he was alone and struggling and miserable, Jinyoung regretted leaving. Not the town, not the persecution, but Jaebeom. How many times he fantasized about Jaebeom turning up out of the blue, having chased after him. Sometimes that dream of reuniting with Jaebeom was all that kept him going. How stupid it seems now.

Within the year, they’d married. Had Jaebeom lept at the chance to marry Simone? Was it only pity for Jinyoung that held him back? Was it only pity the whole time? Is it only ever pity that draws men to Jinyoung? 

If Jinyoung had stayed, would Jaebeom have still married Simone? 

“As for how they are,” Alisa continues, “I haven’t heard from Simone since she left for Detroit. But before that, you know. She was always the cleverest with numbers, I think she really didn’t like being a little housewife and being stuck here. Not that she doesn’t love Jaebeom of course. Just, you know. I’m sure she’s really happy, getting to actually use her brain. And you’ve seen how Jaebeom is.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he seems… odd.” Jinyoung moves the rest of his food around his plate lazily, eyes watching his fork to avoid Alisa’s gaze. “Maybe I’m just imagining things. I guess I just don’t know him anymore. He didn’t look pleased to see me.”

Without looking up, Jinyoung can feel Alisa’s big blue eyes on him, watery and sympathetic. “Oh Jinyoung, don’t take it personal. Like I said, he’s been… strange ever since Simone left. In and out of foul moods. I’m a bit worried, honestly. You don’t think…”

“Yes?” Jinyoung prompts, taking another bite of lasagna, so as not to appear impolite.

“I know it’s been a while, but you and Jaebeom were so… _close_ ,” Alisa says carefully, putting such an emphasis on _close_ that Jinyoung’s heart quickens nervously. “Maybe you could talk to him. He and I never exactly had _that_ kind of relationship. Talking about feelings.”

“I’m sure he just misses her,” Jinyoung reassures her stiffly after swallowing down his food. It feels like thickening cement going down his throat to choke him. 

“Maybe. He’s jealous too, I think. And worried she won’t come back.”

“Why wouldn’t she come back? Are they having… marital problems?” 

“Oh no, nothing like that! They’re still going as strong as they were before you left!”

Jinyoung graciously holds back a snort of derision. “When they were arguing all the time?”

“It was a difficult time,” Alisa replies, tone unusually sharp. “They always made up. Simone has always been stubborn, and Jaebeom is just very… passionate.”

“Is he still?” Jinyoung asks off-handedly, remembering the cold, distant eyes of the new, mature Doctor Lim.

“Well, yes, from what I could see between them,” Alisa says with a little giggle, like she’s sharing a naughty secret. “I just mean that… people _leave_ Cliff’s Edge Jinyoung. They don’t come back. Nobody goes out into the world and sees everything it has to offer and decides to come back here.”

“Jaebeom must have. He would have had to go to medical school.”

“He came back because his father died, and the town needed a doctor.” Alisa’s gaze wanders away from Jinyoung nostalgically. “He used to… Before he left, he was so happy to be getting out. He would talk about… finding you.”

“Me?” Jinyoung holds back the frown that threatens to cross his face. To think that they shared that fantasy of finding each other again… But now, realistically, Jinyoung can’t help his misgivings. It was just a silly dream. Why would Jaebeom have wanted to find him? After everything that happened?

“Yes. He and Simone were going through a… rough patch-”

“Going strong?”

“Shut up,” Alisa retorts, but it has no heat. “That was his chance to get out, but he missed it.”

“Surely, no matter how wonderful the world is, Simone would come back. For Jaebeom.”

“ _You_ didn’t.”

“ _I’m_ not married to him,” Jinyoung responds coldly, though his chest flares hot with equal parts shame and indignation. Wanting the conversation over, his face closes off into a long-practiced frigid expression.

Alisa nods, clearly embarrassed for pressing him. “Of course. Are you finished with your plate? I’d like to turn in for the night.” 

**10:04 am, December 21st.**

“Morning, what can I do for you?”

“Good morning! Are you Alisa… Alisa…”

“Mesikämmen,” Alisa supplies, smiling graciously when Jackson tries to chase the syllables, mouthing along. “Don’t worry about it. That’s me! You must be the guys from the FBI. I’m afraid Jinyoung popped out in the truck. He said he’ll be back though.”

“Great,” Mark grumbles under his breath.

“He stayed here last night?” Jackson asks, ignoring Mark. 

“Yeah, just on my sofa upstairs!” Alisa glances between them, face falling. “Is that… not allowed? The weather was so bad…”

“Of course,” Jackson reassures her before she can look too upset, “we were just checking, since we didn’t hear from him. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions, while we have you?”

“Sure thing! If this phone rings, I have to get it, but I’m all yours until then.”

“What can you tell us about Jinyoung?” Mark asks before Jackson can open his mouth again.

“About… Jinyoung…? Why? I thought he was working with you guys…”

“He is! He is working with us,” Jackson says quickly, making Mark frown. “We’re just…”

“Oh,” Alisa’s eyes widen in realization, “you didn’t know he was from here, did you?”

Mark sighs. “He neglected to mention.”

“I see,” Alisa says delicately. “Well, what do you want to know then?”

“Let’s start more broadly,” Jackson says, shooting Mark a disapproving frown. “Do you remember the deaths that happened when you were a teenager?”

“Of course. You don’t really forget something like that. Especially when Victoria was found. It hadn’t really seemed real to us until then I think.”

“Hold on.” Mark cuts in tersely, tone clipped but professional. “You let Jinyoung see the body, and… sleep on your couch… despite recognizing him. Knowing his involvement. Some of the others we’ve spoken to say he was one of the main suspects. Do you… not suspect him?”

“Honestly? No. I never did.”

“Even with all the evidence?”

“If there was evidence, he would have been arrested,” Alisa says firmly. “There’s _rumours_. Very baseless rumours.”

“That’s fair,” Jackson says, raising his eyebrows reflectively, and valiantly resisting shooting Mark a clear look of _I told you so_. “What about the deaths stopping when he left town?”

“Right. I mean, that’s what everyone says. But that’s not the only thing that happened that night.” Alisa hesitates. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but when I was younger, I always thought… that Reverend Park could have been the one. I even thought… maybe Jinyoung set the fire because he found out. And he wanted to stop Reverend Park.”

“So you _do_ believe Jinyoung set the fire?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was childish to think. Either way, I don’t blame Jinyoung if he did set the fire. All the adults loved the reverend, but he was scary. The way he treated Jinyoung… sometimes he would come to school without lunch, having not had breakfast. Not expecting to get dinner. That was normal for him. And that was only what I noticed. I hate to think what else could have been happening.” A strange wistful smile comes over Alisa’s face. “Actually Jaebeom used to steal extra food for his lunch just to share with Jinyoung, so he’d get something to eat that day.”

“We were given the impression Jinyoung wasn’t liked by the others at the school,” Mark says carefully. “But from what you’re telling us, that wasn’t the case.”

“Oh, it wasn’t. Jaebeom and Jinyoung were very close. They were like brothers. Jinyoung was very shy, even when his English got better. Jaebeom was Jinyoung’s closest friend, but none of us disliked him. And certainly none of us _suspected_ him.”

“Not even after Victoria Thomas?”

“No,” Alisa says firmly, tone going icy. “During that time… when the town started noticing that people were going missing, when the first bodies started being found… the town sort of fractured. For the adults, the actual adults, it was like they were being hunted. Nobody was above suspicion. You weren’t supposed to trust anyone outside your own household. For the couple younger kids, it just didn’t seem to impact them at all. But for us, it brought us closer together, as weird as that sounds. I would almost say Jinyoung actually befriended me and Simone and Victoria during that time. Before that, we liked him fine, but he was always distant. We knew him because he was Jaebeom’s little shadow. But when townspeople started going missing, me and Victoria and Jinyoung used to hang out together then a lot. To be honest Jaebeom was having, you know… teenager issues, then he and Simone were fighting. 

“What happened to Victoria… it was so awful. I think we felt safe from everything until then. Afterwards, Simone didn’t leave her house for weeks. Jaebeom would lose his temper at the littlest things, his moods got worse and worse. Jinyoung… he pretty much stopped talking to us altogether. He found her, you see. She was just… lying in the middle of the road, while he was walking to school.”

Jackson lets Alisa drift for a moment, before asking gently, “Is there anything else you think we should know?”

“I… not off the top of my head, no.” Alisa shakes her head like she’s casting off the bad memories. “You’re staying at Veera Takala’s place, right?”

“Yes. We’ll need to talk to Doctor Lim and Simone Rousseau as well…”

“Doctor Lim is out on call, I couldn’t tell you when he’ll be back. And Simone certainly isn’t here! She’s in Detroit, actually, studying finance,” Alisa tells them, chest puffed up proudly. “Just started this past September!”

“Thanks… Oh!” Mark fixes Alisa with a piercing look. “One more thing. We were told Jinyoung was suspected of killing pets as a teen, do you know anything about that?”

“That’s just not true,” Alisa says, looking annoyed now. “Ms. Richard told you that, didn’t she? You really shouldn’t believe everything she says, she likes to sensationalize things. Jinyoung… used to be very interested in… well. Whenever any of us found a wild animal dead, Jinyoung would like… examine it. This was way back, when we were like thirteen, so we all thought it was really cool. You know how kids are. Jaebeom even stole some gloves from his dad’s practice because he was worried about how unsanitary it was. If the animal was already… open, then he would point out certain organs to us. Considering what he does now, he was probably just like… practicing. Nobody knew about it until we mistook someone’s dead cat for a wild animal. Jinyoung lied and said the rest of us weren’t involved. I mean, we weren’t really. We just watched. But still. He got in a lot of trouble back then.” 

The shrill peal of the telephone on Alisa’s desk ringing makes all three of them jump, and she smiles apologetically. “I need to take this, if you go out back there’s a path leading to the mortician’s back door, where the body is. Dark red door, you can’t miss it.”

Handing them a key, Alisa smoothly picks up the receiver with her other hand and speaks into it breezily. Jackson takes the key, whispering “ _Merry Christmas_ ,” to Alisa, who gives him a quick conspiratorial smile as she talks into the phone, cheeks pinking.

“Jackson,” Mark says when they step out into the cold, stopping just outside the door. Pausing, he watches the fog of his breath drift up to vanish into the bleak sky. Beside him, Jackson shifts his weight to stave off the chill, snow crunching underfoot. “Just listen for a moment.”

“Okay…?”

“Jaebeom Lim and Jinyoung were both suspected, separately, when they were younger. The sheriff doubts motives—but those aren’t always clear with serial killers anyway. And he doubts that Jinyoung would have had the strength to overcome some of the victims, because he was a teenager at the time. But what if… they worked together?”

“Jinyoung and Doctor Lim?” Jackson asks, stricken. 

“They both went into medical fields, the victims were expertly killed. Both Ms. Richard and Alisa mentioned Lim’s moods, maybe there’s anger management issues there. And as for Jinyoung, even with Alisa’s sympathetic description, as a teenager he really ticks all the boxes for a dangerous loner.”

“Jinyoung’s not like that,” Jackson protests desperately, eyes wide and imploring. “You don’t know him Mark, I’ve-”

“I know this is difficult for you Jackson, but think _logically_ -”

“Okay, _logically_ ,” Jackson says fiercely, “you said they were expertly killed, but we only know that for the recent victim! And Jinyoung couldn’t have been involved in the latest murder. Why would Doctor Lim start up again suddenly, without Jinyoung, if they were partners? Why start up again at all? Why stop? Why did Jinyoung leave town while Doctor Lim stayed, if they were such close partners?”

“I don’t have all the answers Jackson.”

“Well there are a lot of holes in your theory,” Jackson barks back, annoyed. 

“Fine. Lim doesn’t need Jinyoung’s help anymore, with the strength of a fully grown man. And trying to get into the “why” with killers like these… it just isn’t worth it. They don’t think like us.” Mark goes silent, pensive, and for once Jackson stays quiet too, gaze boring into the red door to the mortician’s. “The reason he stopped could have something to do with his wife. Say he married Simone Rousseau around the time Jinyoung left town. The killings stop. Then as soon as she leaves to study in Detroit, old urges make themselves known. Alisa said she just left this past September.

“You know,” Mark continues with a shrug, tone deceptively light, “if Lim didn’t just kill his wife and lie about her going to Detroit.”

Pitifully, Jackson follows Mark to the door. There needs to be some fatal flaw in Mark’s theory, exonerating Jinyoung. There just has to be.

The door is stiff, stalling when Mark pushes it open, and it’s not until he leans against it with his shoulder that it swings in. With a creak, it reveals the backroom of the old mortician’s, dimly lit but recently cleaned. Dingy cream-coloured tile covers the floor and creeps up the walls. In the middle of the room, the body lies covered with a sheet.

“Oh, we’re-” Jackson pauses, voice too loud in the silence. Outside, the snow dampens any sound of wildlife, and it feels to Jackson as if the sickly old room sucks the breath right out of him. “Is that it?”

Without responding, Mark steps inside, walking slowly over to the body. His steps are measured, but not hesitant. Jackson reluctantly follows, pushing the door closed behind him, dimming the room further.

Mark’s eyes are fixed on the sheet, alight with something Jackson can’t place. Delicately he reaches forward and pulls back the sheet covering the body. Beneath, another smaller sheet covers the head, but Jackson takes a stumbling step back at just the sight of the body.

A strange sort of fear curdles Jackson’s stomach. Even after all these years as an agent, this is the first dead body he’s ever seen. It’s discomfiting to him to think of something that was once human and alive as an inanimate object, still as stone. But Mark didn’t recoil, so Jackson steels himself and steps up beside him.

“Is it just me or does it look… funny?” Jackson asks, his gaze flitting between the odd pallor of the skin and Mark’s face. “Like weird?”

“I don’t know Jackson, it’s a dead body,” Mark replies tersely, eyes trained on the corpse. He hasn’t spared Jackson a glance since the door opened, and doesn’t now as he leans in closer. “I’m not the medical examiner here.”

Jackson keeps his mouth shut, brow furrowed in confusion as Mark leans over the body so closely that his breath must ghost over its waxy skin. Mark takes a deep breath in, and Jackson can’t help but focus on how loud his own breathing is. 

The oppressive silence of the room is putting Jackson on edge, and setting his thoughts running wild. An instinctive fear is coursing through Jackson, and his brain rushes to explain why. Creepy room. Dead body. Mark acting oddly. Jinyoung could be a serial killer.

No. Jackson frowns at himself. He _knows_ Mark is wrong. Even entertaining the thought—that Jinyoung could be a murderer—feels like deadly betrayal. Sacreligious.

With a sudden bang, the red door is pushed open again. Nearly crying out, Jackson jumps, clutching his chest where his heart has picked up pace in fright.

It’s only Jinyoung, nearly a silhouette against the bright snow outside. Thoughtlessly, Jackson’s gaze darts to each of his hands, almost expecting a weapon. Something incriminating. But Jinyoung’s hands are empty, and Jackson’s still frantic heart sinks for the second betrayal. He’s only known Mark for a few days, but he’s known Jinyoung for _years_.

“Oh, you’re both here,” Jinyoung greets them briskly, unaware of Jackson’s inner turmoil. “I’d like to perform an internal examination.”

“You already have the permissions,” Mark replies quickly, “although we had better remain in the room.”

Startled, Jackson glances at Mark’s face, only to find a cold professional mask. He knows it well from Jinyoung. Surely Mark wouldn’t want Jinyoung to continue to work on the case, if he considers him one of the main suspects. He had been so worked up about it, so what changed?

“I understand,” Jinyoung says before Jackson can get his thoughts in order. Gesturing to a worn bench along one wall, he begins removing his outerwear. “You should probably sit though, and please keep quiet. I’ll be dictating my notes.”

**5:23 pm, December 21st.**

“Would you close the window, I’m freezing!” Jinyoung grumbles from the backseat.

“Leave him,” Mark replies, glancing carefully at Jackson in the passenger seat, head leaning out the truck window. “I don’t want him throwing up in the truck.”

“I’m fine,” Jackson says shakily, eyes closed against the cold air rushing by. “I just don’t understand why we had to sit there and watch. God, the ribs… It was so-”

“Stop thinking about it Jackson,” Jinyoung commands.

“We could hardly leave Jinyoung alone with the body,” Mark says, looking warningly at Jinyoung in the rearview mirror. “Legally speaking, it’s already a mess.”

Jinyoung meets Mark’s gaze knowingly, but doesn’t address his words. “I don’t know for sure if the previous bodies were drained of blood too, but they had the same outer appearance, so I suspect they were. This bloodletting was very surgical, like tubing was inserted.”

“You mentioned,” Jackson says, looking queasy again.

“Sorry. It’s just that it seems significant because the earlier bodies weren’t like that. How they were drained of blood wasn’t neat, or surgical. It was messy. Like an animal attack. So the methodology has changed.”

“They were messy…?” Turning in his seat, Jackson looks over the shoulder of his seat with wide, baleful eyes. “It doesn’t say that in the file…”

“I know,” Jinyoung says solemnly, resigned like a man climbing the steps to the gallows.

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Mark asks, not taking his eyes off the road ahead.

“I didn’t know I was even coming here until I was already on the plane. And then I just… I don’t know. I couldn’t figure out what to tell you.”

“Sorry,” Jackson offers softly.

“We’ll interview you properly back at the “just one B”,” Mark says decisively, rolling his eyes at the name. “For now, is there anything else you can tell us, in your capacity as a medical examiner?”

“From the external examination yesterday, the clothes suggest a tourist. Some kind of hiker perhaps. There was residue from duct tape on his clothing, specifically forearms and calves. My guess would be that he was captured, bound with duct tape. He hadn’t eaten much before death, so either he was lost without food, or he spent a few days captured before being killed. I couldn’t find anything pointing to _how_ he was captured, but that’s neither here nor there. Then he was drained of blood. And that’s what killed him. Blood loss.”

“Would it have hurt?” Jackson asks quietly.

“No,” Mark and Jinyoung answer him in unison, matching in their firm reassurance. Jinyoung continues, “it would be like passing out. Just disorienting, then nothing.”

When they get back to their room, Mark tidies the table quickly, putting their papers into a neat pile. 

“Sit,” he tells Jinyoung, gesturing at the chair across the table, and Jinyoung obeys. 

“What do you want to know?”

“Plenty of things,” Mark says tersely, pulling out the photograph given to them by Ms. Richard. He shows it to Jinyoung, pointing to the sullen teenage version of him in the picture. “This is you?”

“Yes.”

“You and Jaebeom Lim were… close?”

“Yes.”

Mark sighs. “You’re going to need to give us some longer answers here, Jinyoung. Why did you leave town when you were eighteen?”

“Jaebeom and I made a pact. To run away together when I turned eighteen.”

“Together?” Jackson asks hesitantly. “I thought… Ms. Richard said he married his childhood sweetheart, Simone something or other…”

“Simone Rousseau, yes.” Jinyoung purses his lips. “So I’ve heard.”

“So they were together at the time?”

“Yes.”

“Jinyoung…”

“Jackson,” Mark interrupts. “Let’s stay focused. Jinyoung, we were under the impression you left town alone.”

“I did. Why are you asking me about him? Is he a suspect?”

“Look, I’ll be honest with you Jinyoung,” Mark says sharply, crossing his arms, “yes, he is a suspect. And right now, so are you. So a little more cooperation would be appreciated.”

“Of course.” Jinyoung’s eyes drop down to his hands where they sit in his lap. “Sorry. I just don’t like talking about it.”

“Why didn’t Jaebeom leave town with you, if that was your plan?” Jackson gently takes up the question again, finally taking a seat at the table. With a little sigh, Mark follows, sitting across from Jinyoung. 

“Some time in between his eighteenth birthday and mine, he… changed. Sometimes, he wouldn’t act any differently. Except he would never mention our plans, and if I brought it up, he would say he didn’t know what I was talking about. Then there were times where he would ignore me, act like he barely knew me when we were around others, actively tried to avoid being alone with me. I-” Jinyoung’s voice falters, and he takes a deep steadying breath.

Though Jinyoung’s face seems impassive, Jackson can see heartbreak in his friend’s eyes. He’s seen it before.

“I couldn’t understand it,” Jinyoung continues, trying to sound impassive. “If he changed his mind about leaving with me, why not just say so?”

“Was this around the time of Victoria Thomas’ death?”

Jinyoung takes another shaky breath in. “It was sort of… concurrent. It’s not like he only started acting strangely after she died. I would have understood that. We were all upset. He had been acting like that for a while. When I found her… things really fell apart then. Between all of us.” 

“Did he only start acting strangely after the disappearances and deaths started?”

“I…” Jinyoung looks between them, looking more helpless than Jackson has ever seen him. Then Jinyoung draws himself up and Jackson can almost see him pull on his icy detachment like a cloak about his shoulders. “It’s hard to say, because there’s no concrete time when everything started. People go missing all the time around here, so it took a while for things to be pieced together. But if I had to guess it was probably after.” 

“Alisa said after Victoria Thomas’ death, you stopped talking to the rest of them. Do you remember why?”

“I think I was just… well, Simone’s mother locked her up in the house for weeks. It was just me and Alisa and Jaebeom and the new school teacher. He was the old teacher actually, I think. Ms. Richard thought we were little murderers. Me especially, I’m sure. I think she must have asked the new teacher to keep an eye on me, he was always watching my every move. And Jaebeom was ignoring me, so I left him and Alisa alone. I didn’t want to make them feel uncomfortable. Make Alisa feel like she had to choose sides at a time like that.”

“...Jinyoung, we have to ask,” Jackson says in a small, reserved voice. “Did you set the fire? The church? Your uncle’s death?” 

“In the interest of being completely honest, although only Jaebeom knows this, Reverend Park wasn’t really my uncle. He was my father.” Jinyoung pauses, letting the information sink in. Jackson’s eyes widen in horror, not just shock, and Mark’s mouth tightens into a grim line. Keeping his tone carefully impersonal, Jinyoung continues. “He could only keep his position by saying I was his nephew. And to answer your question, no, I did not set the fire. I know how it looks, of course, because I left that same night. I had supplies, some of my belongings, all ready to leave or be packed quickly because of my previous plans. I was hesitating, not sure if I could make it alone. Hoping maybe Jaebeom would change his mind. I took the fire as a sign to leave. It started in the church, so I grabbed my stuff, took my father’s truck, and drove away. I may have left him to die, but I didn’t set the fire.” 

“How do you think the fire started?”

“I never gave it much thought, honestly.” Jinyoung shrugs, running a hand restlessly through his neat hair. “There were always candles lit in the church, the building was mostly wood, and then cloth for insulation. It could have been an accident.”

Jackson glances at Mark uneasily and finds Mark’s expression mirroring his own.

“A lot of bad things around here just happen,” Jinyoung continues grimly. “No rhyme or reason. No evil creature. Just… misfortune.”

“Why did you let me bring you back here?” Jackson says softly, letting it slip. When Jinyoung’s familiar gaze falls on him, Jackson feels a curl of deep shame in his chest. How could he have let a few strangers he just met sway his opinion of one of his closest friends? Jinyoung’s dark eyes have always been expressive, and it’s only those he’s comfortable with that are blessed with their warmth and care. Of course the mysterious teenage Jinyoung had looked so dreadfully dour, eyes cold and closed off. “You could have made excuses once you knew, lied, even told me the truth, I wouldn’t have made you-”

“Jackson. It doesn’t matter now,” Jinyoung says, tone level but gentle. He reaches over to squeeze Jackson’s knee, comforting the both of them. “At first, I thought of worming my way out of this. I don’t _want_ to be here, and I’m really not looking forward to when more townspeople begin to recognize me. But if I can help figure out what’s going on here—what happened to Victoria—then I want to. And god knows, if I made my excuses and you came here alone, I’d only look _more_ suspicious.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Even if we don’t solve the case, I’m actually… grateful for this chance to do _something_.”

“Jinyoung,” Mark begins seriously after giving them a moment, “this could be a big issue if this ever gets to court. Having you here, I mean. But it also gives us an advantage. Trying to be as objective as possible, is there anything else important you think we should know?”

Taking a deep breath, Jinyoung starts, “There were a total of six bodies connected to these killings. There were at least four locals who went missing, but at the time they weren’t considered as connected as the file says they are. I remember our teacher gossiping with Simone’s mother about how she thought Mr. Takala just… ran off with some other woman. And the river’s always a danger. If you slip into it, your body is more likely to be found in a Great Lake than here.

“And another thing, what I was saying in the truck earlier. The way the people were killed… I don’t think it was exactly the same. They looked similar, “turned to stone”, but it was messier. Like their throat had been torn out by a wild animal. But it was clean. Not…” Jinyoung sighs shakily. “I mean, the injury was cleaned. They should have been very bloody. But it was just this mess of pale flesh where their necks should have been.”

“So either our original killer is trying some new techniques, or we have a copycat who is making some changes.” Mark lets out a sigh, ruffling a hand through his sandy hair. “Jinyoung, do you suspect Jaebeom? _Did_ you, back then?”

“No. I didn’t think… I didn’t think any human was capable of that back then. Not the violence, I understood that. There are a lot of hunters here, and… I just mean. Specifically what was done to the bodies. Mauled, possibly drained of blood too? It seemed impossible for a human to pull off.”

“Someone put forward Reverend Park as a suspect.”

Jinyoung scoffs, mouth twisting in something between a cruel smile and a sneer. “No, it wasn’t him. Alisa told you that, didn’t she? I know Alisa and Victoria were scared of him. Jaebeom hated him. Reverend Park was a very serious, imposing man, and he certainly could be violent. But those killings… they terrified him. He barely set foot outside the church or the house. It was some ungodly beast, he said. He was scared that it was his fault. That he had brought a… a _blight_ upon the town, by bringing me to live there.”

“He thought you were the killer?” Mark asks incredulously, like he hadn’t made the same assertion only hours ago.

“No, just some… punishment for his sins. Breaking vows of chastity, premarital relations. All that.” Jinyoung toys with his fingers, eyes fixed on the tabletop. It’s easier now, to talk about it like it hardly concerned him at all. “He was the town’s spiritual leader, and they could tell he was frightened, which only spread fear faster. Everyone dug into the stories their grandparents told them about monsters and eventually everyone was talking about _surma_. It’s Finnish. The guardian of the realm of the dead, embodiment of death.”

“And that’s how you knew what it was, when we first got here,” Mark confirms.

“Yeah.”

“You said something else too, didn’t you?” Jackson asks, wringing his hands. “A little phrase.”

“Oh. Yes. So _surma_ is a dog, right, and the embodiment of death? A phrase that went around, Alisa taught us. _Surman suuhun_ ,” Jinyoung pronounces carefully. “It basically means… into the jaws of death.”

After a moment of pensive silence, Mark speaks again. “Jinyoung, this question might sound strange, but bear with me. Jaebeom Lim… does he seem different? From when you knew him before? Physically I mean.”

“…Physically…?” Jinyoung blinks at Mark in confusion. “I… yes. He looks different. Of course it _has_ been a number of years, so he’s… gotten older. Why?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mark says, brushing it off. He presses his fingers to his temple and sighs, staring down at the information spread across the table. “So, what are our leads now?”

“I think the different methodology is worth examining further,” Jinyoung suggests slowly, slipping easily back into the more comfortable role of medical examiner. 

“Like why they would change technique, if it was the same person?”

“Well, the newer one is more efficient,” Jinyoung says thoughtfully. “Less effort. Less wastage.”

Jackson makes a face. “Wastage of what?”

Jinyoung shrugs, but his eyes are sharp and watchful, trained on Mark, who doesn’t look up from the table. “The blood.”

“You think the killer—or killers— _want_ the blood? Like, they keep it?” Jackson glances between Mark and Jinyoung. When neither answer, or even bother to look at him, Jackson leans back in his chair with a huff. “What would they do with it? _Drink_ it? You think we’re dealing with a _vampire_? Should I bust out the stakes?”

“It’s no less sensible than thinking a mythological dog did it.”

“I _don’t_ think that. Why would a _vampire_ go to the trouble of machines, surely they could just, y’know…” Jackson curls his pointer fingers down and holds them in front of his mouth like fangs.

“Jackson,” Jinyoung sighs, finally looking over at him. “I never actually _said_ a vampire. I just mean, it would make less of a mess. The previous way, blood would have got everywhere. I still don’t know how those bodies were cleaned of blood so thoroughly. But it would be much quicker to just jab someone with a couple needles and drain them.”

“Let’s turn in,” Mark says suddenly, standing up and stretching. Jackson and Jinyoung look up at him in confusion. “I’ll take the couch tonight.”

“You… don’t have any more questions for me?” Jinyoung asks, as Jackson whines, “What about _dinner?_ ”

“Oh right.” Mark shrugs. “Let’s get dinner then. I think that’s enough case talk for the evening.”

**11:29 am, December 22nd.**

“This is the cliff.”

“The cliff?”

“ _Cliff’s_ Edge?”

“Oh,” Mark says, gazing over the precipice Jinyoung has led them to. 

Several feet behind them, Jackson struggles through the snow. “Ugh, I’m fucking freezing! Is it safe to be so near the edge?”

“It’s safer if you don’t shout,” Jinyoung responds, pitching his voice low but speaking clearly enough that Jackson can hear.

“And it’s not much of a cliff,” Mark adds, raising his eyebrows critically.

Below them a shallow ravine unfolds, and though the ground beneath their feet ends suddenly, it’s not much of a drop. A river runs past them, cutting through the middle of the ravine with winter-pale water, its bed and the ground around it slick with dead brown leaves from the autumn. 

“That’s the mill,” Jinyoung says when Jackson steps up beside them, pointing to an old structure sitting down in the ravine. It juts out of the natural landscape like a mausoleum of decaying wood and rusted metal. “That’s why this town exists.”

“If it’s out of commission, what’s keeping the town alive?” Jackson asks.

“Pigheadedness.”

“We should go down there,” Mark says suddenly. “Can we?”

“Sure, there’s actually plenty of easy ways down,” Jinyoung replies, eyes lighting up a bit in excitement. “Follow me then!”

Quickly Jinyoung finds a spot where the edge of the precipice splits easily into a shallow incline, and leads them down the snaking path, holding onto tree branches for balance.

“Me and the others—sorry, I mean like, Jaebeom, Alisa, and them—we used to hang out here,” Jinyoung says suddenly, cheeks rosy with excitement. Or maybe just the cold. “Classic spot for teenagers to lurk around, huh?”

“An old abandoned lumber mill?” Jackson scoffs breathlessly. “In a horror movie, maybe.”

Laughing, Jinyoung trundles through the thick snow to a gaping maw of an entrance into the mill. Mark follows, mouth set in a grim little line, and Jackson takes up the rear. The inside is somehow worse than the outside, without even the beauty of nature to contrast the wasting away of the manmade structure. Snow drifts in through holes in the vaulted roof, turning everything into shapeless white mounds. What few surfaces aren’t buried in snow, are covered in years of grime. 

“Careful,” Jinyoung says, picking his way along the floor. “Test each step before you take it. And watch out for saw blades.”

“Oh yeah,” Jackson snorts, “ _such_ a cool place to hang out with friends. What’s more fun than getting tetanus?”

Imitating Jinyoung’s delicate steps, Mark walks over to a hunk of machinery emerging from the snow, then disappears behind it.

“Around the corner there Jaeb-” Jinyoung’s voice stops suddenly as soon as he follows Mark out of sight, and with his heart in his throat, Jackson carelessly hurries around after them.

Though Mark and Jinyoung are safe, standing ramrod straight, laid out before them in the snow is a man, face-up. Quite clearly, dead, even to Jackson, but fresh. Recently dumped.

“Oh,” Jackson says dumbly, the other two silent as death. The noise seems to disturb the old frozen rafters of the building, creaking and wheezing in the still air.

After a breathless pause, Jinyoung opens his shoulder bag. “Jackson, take some pictures with your phone.”

Mechanically, Jinyoung takes out a pair of medical gloves from his bag and pulls them on before crouching to examine the body. Besides the crunch of Jackson’s boots in the snow as he moves around to take pictures, silence reigns for a few moments.

“Do you recognize him?” Jackson asks uncertainly.

“No. Most likely another out-of-towner. Duct tape,” Jinyoung comments, pinching a piece of the corpse’s sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. “And it’s the new technique again.” Jinyoung indicates the wide puncture wound on the inside of the elbow. “Looks like they’re setting up a pattern of their own.”

“Oh shoot,” Jackson says suddenly, looking down at his feet, the circles of prints he’s left around the body. “Footprints. We’ve destroyed any footprints the killer would have left.”

Mark hasn’t moved from where he stands. “There weren’t any.”

**4:48 pm, December 22nd.**

With a rough tug, Jinyoung closes the back door of the mortician’s, locking it neatly. He takes a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dying daylight reflecting off the snow, filling his lungs with bitter winter air. Past the ice shed, a bright cardinal sits among the sagging tree branches. Jinyoung watches as he ruffles up his red feathers against the cold, and hunches his shoulders in sympathy.

When he steps into the doctor’s surgery, Alisa isn’t at her desk, and the front room is empty. Before he can consider sitting down to wait for Mark and Jackson, the door to Jaebeom’s office opens.

“Jinyoung?”

“Jaebeom!” Jinyoung blurts out, spinning around guiltily, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “Doctor Lim.”

But when Jinyoung’s gaze falls upon Jaebeom’s face, he finds it puzzlingly open, boyish and wide-eyed. He’s even… smiling. Like he’s actually happy to see Jinyoung. 

“What are you doing here?” Jaebeom asks breathlessly, letting the door to his office close behind him.

Feeling a little unbalanced, Jinyoung blinks, glancing around like he’ll discover this is all some unusual prank. “Another body’s been found.”

“Ah.” Jaebeom’s crooked smile fades, excitement dimming. Yet he doesn’t return to the icy-eyed man from the other day either. “Right.”

The silence between them grows heavy in Jinyoung’s ears, fueling his nervously beating heart and sending his pulse thundering along his neck.

“Alisa’s out getting groceries,” Jaebeom says quietly, taking a step closer to Jinyoung.

“Or what passes for groceries around here,” Jinyoung mumbles, feeling bashful under Jaebeom’s intense stare.

Jaebeom’s laugh is low and far too close, and Jinyoung can’t help but shiver at the sound. Looking up, he finds Jaebeom’s gaze unbearably fond, eyes deep and unfathomable.

“Do you want me to drive you?”

“No,” Jinyoung says quickly, not trusting himself around Jaebeom longer than the next few minutes. “Mark and Jackson are coming here to get me around five.” 

“It’s not five yet.” Jaebeom’s tone is slow and calm, like he has all the time in the world.

There’s nothing Jinyoung can say to that. His gaze hovers on the dip between Jaebeom’s clavicles, terrified of the emotion he might find in Jaebeom’s eyes if he were to look up. Out of the corner of his eye, Jinyoung sees Jaebeom’s arm move, hand coming steadily up. 

Jaebeom’s knuckles brush the side of Jinyoung’s neck, cold against his heated skin, and Jinyoung doesn’t flinch. His pulse roars tellingly beneath Jaebeom’s gentle touch. Carefully, Jaebeom’s fingers slide up to cup Jinyoung’s cheek, and his other hand finds Jinyoung’s hip.

This is a language Jinyoung knows well, and he lets it fill his mind. He lets Jaebeom pull him closer. Jinyoung has always felt powerless to resist handsome men who offer him their affection, and long before that, Jaebeom was the one who made him weak.

Jaebeom kisses him, and Jinyoung accepts it willingly. Eagerly. Kissing is always soothing to Jinyoung, wrapped up in being _wanted_ , but the thrill of emotion that runs through him now is unfamiliar and addictive. He surges against Jaebeom like a wave pulled by the moon, kissing back harder, twisting his hands into the front of Jaebeom’s shirt. Jinyoung was never very good at just _kissing_ and leaving it there. It means too much that way.

But when Jinyoung tries to line up their hips, the touch of their belt buckles ringing through the room, Jaebeom pulls back—although not away. He lets Jinyoung’s body stay pressed up against his, held between his arms. The weight of Jaebeom’s arm along the small of his back, of Jaebeom’s hand at the nape of his neck, is so familiar to Jinyoung, he wants to melt into the safety it brings.

“I missed you,” Jaebeom says, voice raw and honest. Wistful yearning radiates from his open face. “I missed you so much Jinyoung.”

It’s too much.

“You’re married,” Jinyoung breathes out, hands unfurling against Jaebeom’s chest, as if he’s ready to let go, push him away.

Jaebeom’s voice comes low and private, still dazed from the kiss. “What?”

“You’re _married_ ,” Jinyoung repeats, louder now. It rings in his ears, feeling _too_ loud for how close their faces are, and yet too feeble all at once. “Stop.”

A disappointed voice that sounds painfully like Jackson reminds Jinyoung, _it hasn’t stopped you before_.

“Who told you that?”

“ _Everyone_ ,” Jinyoung grits out, frustrated. Some part of him had clearly still been foolishly hoping. A misunderstanding, an estrangement. _Something_. That hope hardens to sit heavy in his chest, and he pushes himself away from Jaebeom roughly. “It’s as if nothing else important has happened since I left.”

“Simone-”

“It’s not just about Simone!” Jinyoung hates how yieldingly Jaebeom’s arms fell away from him. Hates how his eyes sting like he’s going to cry. “I wish I could say I’m a good person, that I’m thinking about her feelings. About how hurt she’ll be. But I’m thinking about my feelings. How _I’ll_ hurt. I can’t do this again. Not with you.”

“Jinyoung…”

“Please. I can only say no so many times,” Jinyoung whispers, already feeling his resolve slipping.

“Don’t leave me Jinyoung. Please. You’re saving me.”

A chill runs its fingers down Jinyoung’s spine, and all other thoughts are washed away. “...from what?”

Suddenly the front door bursts open, smothering the room in a cold gust of wind and snow. Jinyoung leaps away from Jaebeom in alarm. They hadn’t even been touching at that point, but even being in the same room as Jaebeom feels like too telling of a proximity.

“Jinyoung, sorry we’re late!” Jackson greets, far too loud. He and Mark stop short when they catch sight of Jaebeom, and the door slams shut behind them. “Oh. Hello.”

Jinyoung feels exposed and scrutinized, like every wrinkle in Jaebeom’s shirt or out of place strand of hair could give him away. His face feels aflame with guilt, blood pulsing in his cheeks and lips, turning them a telling pink.

But after a few breaths, Jinyoung cools down and realizes Mark’s eyes are fixed piercingly on Jaebeom, eyebrows set firmly. Jackson glances between the three of them, face open and expectant. And when Jinyoung turns to Jaebeom, he finds his gaze meeting Mark’s with such matching intensity, it’s as if a crackle of deadly lightning is passing between them.

A new uneasiness washes over Jinyoung, cold and different from the humiliation of being interrupted. If he didn’t know any better, it would seem to him that Jaebeom and Mark knew each other. Mark has never sized up a suspect with such a cool steely gaze before. Not even Jinyoung.

Jackson interrupts the stretching silence, clearing his throat and shooting Jinyoung a meaningful look.

“Ah,” Jinyoung blurts out, picking up on Jackson’s hint. Mark and Jackson haven’t even met Jaebeom. “Mark, Jackson, this is Jaebeom. Doctor Lim.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Jackson says, trying to keep the ball rolling. With a forcibly friendly grin, he extends a hand for Jaebeom to shake. “Funny we kept missing each other when this town’s so small. I’m Agent Jackson Wang.”

Jaw tight, Jaebeom takes Jackson’s hand and shakes it crisply. “The population is small, but spread out. I’m out on house calls a lot. Speaking of, I’m just heading out now.”

“Maybe we can find you tomorrow then?” Jackson continues with his overeager tone. “We’ve just got a few questions, so it shouldn’t take long.”

“Tomorrow should be fine, come by early,” Jaebeom says abruptly, pulling his coat down from the hook by the door. “I need to lock up.”

Bewildered, Jinyoung lets Jaebeom herd him out with Mark and Jackson. Though Jaebeom’s hand hovers near the small of Jinyoung’s waist, guiding him out, he doesn’t touch.

As Mark and Jackson get into the truck, Jinyoung watches Jaebeom flick the lights off, and tug the door shut. He remembers to take his keys this time. 

Jinyoung wonders why he’s suddenly in such a rush. Was it just the shame of nearly being discovered? He had seemed so confident and genuine when they were alone. But it’s often that way, Jinyoung’s found. As soon as the light of day shines on them, love wanes and promises wither. Clearly some part of him hoped Jaebeom would be different. 

But at the end of the day, he’s just another man. Married to another woman.

The drive back is quiet, Jinyoung feeling stifled in the cramped truck and unwilling to talk. Every worried glance Jackson sends his way feels like being thrust under a microscope for examination. 

Mark’s knuckles burn white where he grips the steering wheel, and he parks the truck on an angle outside the “just one B”. Full of some kind of nervous energy, he leads the way to their room, only to turn back when they reach the door.

“I have to make a call,” Mark tells them, pushing between them to hurry back down the hall. 

They watch him go, matching in their confusion. Jackson snaps out of it first, unlocking the door and holding it open for Jinyoung.

“Was he being weird with Doctor Lim, or was that just me?”

Caught in the flurry of his own thoughts, Jinyoung doesn’t respond. 

“Jinyoung, do you-”

“Sorry,” Jinyoung interrupts, still lingering in the doorway. He takes his hat off, ruffles his hair, then tugs his hat on again. His skin crawls, head buzzing with the memory of Jaebeom’s piercing eyes. “Sorry, do you mind if I just- I need to clear my head. I’m just going for a quick walk.”

“Alone? Is it safe?”

“I’ll just go around the property, don’t worry.”

“Okay, just… stay safe.”

“I will.”

**????, December 23rd?**

When Jinyoung next awakens, he finds he is not in bed. Not in his familiar one at home, not in the strange “just one B” bed. Not even the rickety old sofa. 

His limbs feel stony and stiff, and his neck is sore. As consciousness returns to him fully, Jinyoung raises his head where it had been lolling and realizes he’s sitting on a chair. It takes a few more seconds before his brain registers the silver duct tape wrapped around his arms and legs. His limbs aren’t just numb from an uncomfortable sleep, they’re secured to the arms and legs of the solid wooden chair.

Adrenaline flares through him, fighting desperately against an inexplicable sluggishness he can’t shake. Drugged, maybe. But when? How? The last thing he remembers is leaving Jackson in their room and going for a walk in the clean snow. And then he remembers… eyes. Eyes as red as blood.

It doesn’t matter right now. Jinyoung brushes those thoughts aside and tries to calm his frenetic heart. He needs to focus. 

Twist to get out of duct tape. Wracking his brain for memories of self-defense classes and general knowledge picked up, Jinyoung twists each wrist back and forth, the adhesive pulling at his skin painfully. As his brain works, he looks around, quickly observing everything he can. 

The room is dark, unlit except for an exposed lightbulb on the ceiling. And it’s cold—so cold. In only his trousers and shirt, Jinyoung may as well be outside in the snow. No carpet on the hard floor, walls of grey brick. No windows. Jinyoung doesn’t recognize it at all. 

Progress is slow, but Jinyoung thinks he can move his wrists more each turn.

There is one door, wood, and Jinyoung is sat facing it. Along the wall to his left is a table, and atop it sits a mess of equipment. Indistinguishable in the gloom, Jinyoung can only make out the ghostly white of medical tubing. Fear shoots through his veins. 

Jinyoung’s wrists are loose, but not free, when the single door clicks, and opens. His captor steps into the room, closing the door quietly.

And when the man steps into the pool of light, horror tears a cavern into Jinyoung’s chest, exposing his wretched little heart.

Before him stands Jaebeom, looking so unlike himself. So unlike the man that touched Jinyoung so gently only hours ago. This Jaebeom looks clean and sharp and cruel.

“No,” Jinyoung says hoarsely, mouth moving without a thought behind it. He barely hears the words, thick in his ears, as he mindlessly repeats himself, “no, _no_!”

Wordlessly, Jaebeom walks over to the equipment piled atop the table, running his steady hands over the metal glinting out from the darkness.

“It _can’t_ be you,” Jinyoung cries out, throat feeling raw and dry. His eyes sting from the cold and the hot tears springing up along his lashes.

“Stop screaming,” Jaebeom says lowly, chidingly, not looking up from his task. 

Jinyoung gasps in air, trying not to sob, though his chest burns from terror and breathlessness. “Why are you doing this? It wasn’t you before!”

Jaebeom sighs, long and grating, and presses a hand to his forehead like he’s fighting off an oncoming headache. His eyes snap over to Jinyoung, and they’re an inhuman red. A new fear comes over Jinyoung, stealing his voice. Aside from his heaving chest, he sits frozen.

When Jaebeom comes over to Jinyoung, his gait is slow, predatory. In a painful mockery of the touches he offered Jinyoung the other day, Jaebeom lets his fingers ghost along the side of Jinyoung’s neck. Leaning in, Jaebeom replaces his fingers with his open lips, tracing Jinyoung’s rushing pulse up to his jaw. Jinyoung can’t help but gasp, treacherous heart fluttering at the twisted affection. Shaking with self-control, Jaebeom inhales deeply and pulls away.

Jaebeom returns to his task and Jinyoung feels cold and bereft, dizzy again. As Jaebeom moves, adjusting the equipment, Jinyoung catches sight of more of it. A glass canister reflects the weak light of the bulb swinging overhead, and with the heart-stopping horror, Jinyoung remembers the danger he’s in. He can just imagine the canister filling up with his precious blood. 

The plan comes to Jinyoung in a flash, and before he can consider how reasonable it is, he dips his chin beneath the collar of his shirt. He’s worn the tiny crucifix like penance for as long as he can remember, a little seed of self-hatred nestled against his heart. Catching the chain in his teeth, he pulls it along with his tongue until the crucifix is in his mouth. Against his cold lips, the metal is warm from the heat of his chest.

The chain grates against Jinyoung’s teeth painfully, digging into the edges of his lower lip until with a _clink_ it finally snaps. Keeping his eyes trained unblinkingly on Jaebeom, Jinyoung lets the broken chain slip out of his mouth, moving the crucifix under his tongue. In his adrenaline-addled brain, this is the quickest and best solution. If it will work. It has to work.

“ _Hyung_ ,” Jinyoung calls carefully around the shape in his mouth, voice warbling and light and pleading. Whatever Jaebeom has become, Jinyoung hopes some parts of him remain the same.

And they do. 

Like clockwork, Jaebeom turns at the sound of Jinyoung’s voice. Again he pauses to press his fingers to the centre of his forehead, wincing, before stepping closer to Jinyoung. The red of Jaebeom’s eyes seems to fluctuate in intensity.

“What?”

“ _Hyung_ ,” Jinyoung repeats, trying for a tone even more desperate this time. His own eyes wide and watery, as yearning as his voice, Jinyoung tilts his chin up, offering his parted lips in a way Jaebeom cannot have forgotten.

Jaebeom’s eyes flash, whether with unreadable emotion or simply their colour changing again, Jinyoung cannot tell. No emotion crosses his face however, he bends as if on marionette strings, hands coming up to cup Jinyoung’s jaw. The touch of his thumbs where they brush the lobes of Jinyoung’s ears is searing and sweet all at once. Jaebeom obediently kisses him.

And for a moment, Jinyoung forgets himself. How he desperately wants to savour this kiss. Hot tears drip down his cheeks and he pushes towards Jaebeom deeper, pressing their lips apart. Then like venom from a snake’s fang, Jinyoung flicks the pendant into Jaebeom’s open mouth.

The result is immediate. As soon as the metal leaves Jinyoung’s tongue, Jaebeom tears himself away with a howl of pain, shoving Jinyoung away. In a jolt that crushes the air from his lungs, Jinyoung lands on his back with a crunch of splintering wood.

Jinyoung heaves and wheezes, trying to catch his breath even as his body automatically struggles to be free of the bindings. When the dizziness clouding his eyes dissipates, Jinyoung whips his head around to check on Jaebeom, if he’s already recovered or-

Jaebeom’s eyes are already on him, and Jinyoung’s heart leaps in fear. But Jaebeom kneels frozen, and without meaning to, Jinyoung’s movements still to match. Instead of the fury Jinyoung was expecting, Jaebeom’s eyes are wide and brown again, as if he is once again surprised to see Jinyoung. He looks… afraid. Terrified even, to be seeing Jinyoung. Blood drips from his mouth down his chin, his tongue hanging out, the shape of the cross burned into the flesh like a brand.

The cold air hangs heavy around them for a few more breaths, then Jaebeom bolts out the door. Jinyoung watches him go, mouth agape, until the door falls shut behind Jaebeom. Mind abuzz with questions, Jinyoung struggles free, broken chair easing his escape. 

Cautiously, Jinyoung follows Jaebeom out the door, opening it inch by inch. Jaebeom is nowhere to be seen down the dark corridor on the other side of the door, but Jinyoung finally recognizes where he is. The schoolhouse basement. Not many basements around town. If memory serves, there is a main room at the end of the corridor, where the exit is, out into the cold. 

Jinyoung creeps along the corridor, hugging the wall as he goes. Suddenly the oppressive silence is broken by the sounds drifting down from the main room ahead. Some kind of an altercation, Jinyoung can hear the impact and grunts of combat. Along the wall is another door, and Jinyoung knows it leads to another small room like the one he awoke in.

As silently as he can, Jinyoung slips into the second room, shutting the door soundly behind him. 

“…Jinyoung?”

Spinning around, Jinyoung finds Jackson watching him with wide, fearful eyes, in the same position Jinyoung just escaped from. Quickly, Jinyoung brings a finger up to his lips, signalling for Jackson to keep quiet. Confusion clouds Jackson’s face, and Jinyoung realizes with a sinking heart that Jackson must have thought Jinyoung his captor.

Stepping carefully, Jinyoung makes his way over to the pile of their belongings against the wall. In his coat, Jinyoung finds his tiny swiss army knife, and cast carelessly to the side, Jackson’s gun in its holster.

“Jinyoung, what’s going on?” Jackson whispers desperately, voice hoarse.

“I just woke up in the other room,” Jinyoung says when he’s kneeling by Jackson’s chair. With the efficiency he’s known for, Jinyoung uses the blade of his swiss army knife to saw through the duct tape binding Jackson. Hesitating foolishly, Jinyoung finally reveals, “I think Jaebeom might be involved.”

“I don’t remember-”

“Shh, he could be outside,” Jinyoung interrupts, finishing Jackson’s second leg. As he stands, Jinyoung hands Jackson his gun. “Here. The exit is to the right, but there are people down there.”

Hesitating, Jackson locks eyes with Jinyoung for a moment before taking it. “Alright. Stay behind me,” he says firmly, holding his gun like he means business.

Formal training kicking in, Jackson proceeds cautiously down the hall. Jinyoung follows a few steps behind, ears pricked for noise. The sounds from the main room have stopped, and Jinyoung can’t be sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

But when the main room comes into view, the first person they see is Mark, standing waiting for them.

“It’s safe,” he calls, waving them into the room. Jinyoung can tell from the disarray of his clothes that he was one of the people fighting, but otherwise he looks unharmed.

“Mark,” Jackson breaths out, clearly relieved. The tension leaves his shoulders in a wave as he lowers his gun. “What the hell happened?”

Jackson steps into the room and stops with a gasp, making Jinyoung bump into his back.

Up against the wall is Jaebeom, hands pulled above his head to shackle him to a low metal ceiling brace with strange looking handcuffs. His shoulders strain against the material of his shirt, head hung low and defeated. Like Mark, he’s clearly been in a fight.

Even more clear is the fact that, somehow, Mark overpowered Jaebeom.

“How…” Jinyoung begins slowly, eyes caught on Jaebeom’s nearly unconscious figure.

“He left the keys in the door.”

“No. I mean, how did you…” Jinyoung remembers the devilish demeanour of Jaebeom in the other room, unable to reconcile that image with the weakened Jaebeom chained to the ceiling. “How did you overpower him?”

Unsettled, Mark shifts his weight onto one foot then the other. “Hand-to-hand. He got the drop on me so I couldn’t use my gun.”

“How did he even get us here…” Jackson mumbles to himself, staring at the ground.

But Jinyoung doesn’t look away from Mark. Something isn’t right.

“Jackson, can you look at me?” Mark asks in an unusual lilting tone. 

“Don’t.” Jinyoung barks out immediately.

Confused, Jackson looks up from the floor, eyes flitting between the two of them nervously. “What?”

“Jackson, look at me,” Mark repeats, this time like a command, gaze hard on Jackson.

In another rush of adrenaline, Jinyoung steps confidently towards Jackson and pulls his gun from his hand. Guard down, thinking he’s among friends, Jackson’s hand is loose around the gun. Before anyone can protest, Jinyoung has the gun pointed at Mark.

“Don’t do what he says Jackson,” Jinyoung orders.

“What?” Jackson repeats, raising his hands nervously, though nobody is pointing a gun at him. “What the hell is going on here? Jinyoung?”

“Jinyoung, I’m on your side,” Mark says calmly, hands lifted out towards Jinyoung like he’s talking down a criminal. “I came here to solve this mystery and catch the killer, the same as you two.”

“How did you overpower Jaebeom?” Jinyoung asks again sharply. 

Gritting his teeth and narrowing his eyes dangerously, Mark doesn’t answer.

“Jinyoung-” Jackson cuts in.

“No, Jackson, please. You trust me, don’t you? I think Mark is like Jaebeom…” Jinyoung struggles to communicate without alienating Jackson further, “they’re… they’re the same.”

“The same _what?_ ” Jackson cries.

“ _I don’t know!_ You didn’t see Jaebeom in there, he- he wasn’t _human_. Mark couldn’t have overpowered him unless…” 

Heaving out an angry sigh, Mark moves. In a blink, he’s on Jinyoung, knocking him to the ground with brutal force and tearing the gun from Jinyoung’s hand with monstrous strength..

Head spinning, Jinyoung chokes out, “Jackson…”

Eyes flashing a vicious red, Mark turns to fix his eyes on Jackson, pointing the gun at him. “On your knees,” he barks, and Jackson obeys, face crumpling at the betrayal. But he doesn’t look away from Mark’s eyes, and in seconds, Jackson slumps to the floor limply.

Jinyoung stares fearfully at Jackson, pinned by Mark’s knee and an unnatural daze he can’t shake.

With a frustrated sigh, Mark pushes himself away from Jinyoung to stand. “I was telling the truth you know Jinyoung, I’m here for the same reasons you two are. I’m not your enemy.”

“What did you do to Jackson?” Jinyoung demands weakly, eyes flitting desperately over to Jackson’s prone form.

“He’s just asleep.” Hardly looking at it, Mark expertly pulls the gun apart. “The less he knows, the safer he’ll be.”

“What are you?”

Mark scoffs, running an agitated hand through his sandy blond hair. “What d’you think? You’re smart, Jinyoung.”

“What are you going to do now?” Jinyoung asks, saving his breath for more pressing words.

“Now, I’m waiting for my superior to arrive.”

“FBI?”

“No, not my superior at the FBI. I actually don’t even know what they’ll look like,” Mark mutters, on edge. “I just called their office last night like I was told. Came back and you two were fucking gone.”

Though it feels more like he has a boulder atop his shoulders, Jinyoung moves his head to see Jaebeom, still lax where he hangs. “Don’t leave Jaebeom like that.”

“No offence Jinyoung, but it’s not exactly your call.”

“He could asphyxiate. ‘s how crucifixion works,” Jinyoung slurs.

Mark can’t help but smile, tight and pitying. “Don’t worry, Jinyoung. He’s a vampire, we don’t need to breathe as much.”

“What’ll to happen to him?”

“I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve been asked to do anything like this. An investigation.”

“Mark.” Heaving with exertion, Jinyoung pulls himself up to sit, leaning against the wall. Physically, it feels like a mistake, but he needs to get his point across to Mark. “Jaebeom can’t have done it. He can’t have.”

“Jinyoung, I know you and he have a history-”

“No. I mean back then. The others.”

“Shit.” Mark’s heart drops, realization washing over him. In the mess everything had become, he’d lost sight of that. “Fuck, you’re right. He had to have been turned recently.”

Kneeling down by Jinyoung, Mark continues. “Okay Jinyoung. You figured out me and Jaebeom. Is there anyone from when you were younger that could fit the bill too?”

“…vampire? I don’t know,” Jinyoung says helplessly, “I don’t remember. But there’s something else. Jaebeom… he’s… he’s been acting strangely.”

“It’s been some time since you last saw him-”

“Would you _listen?_ ” Jinyoung takes a shuddering breath, head feeling heavy and empty at once. “It reminds me of how he was before I left. Changing between being… friendly, and being unkind and strange. I thought he was just different, like you say. Grown up. But just now in the other room…”

Instinctively, Mark reaches out to steady Jinyoung. “Take it easy.”

“I… burned him with my crucifix and he just changed instantly. Like a switch was flicked, he snapped out of it. Out of being a stranger. Like he was… I don’t know. Possessed. Then he was like himself again, and he ran.”

“That’s… not good,” Mark says slowly, turning to stare at Jaebeom in trepidation. “It sounds like he’s in the thrall of another vampire.”

“What… what does that mean?”

“It means there’s another vampire involved. More powerful than Jaebeom.”

Suddenly, there’s a clatter from above, and a blast of snow sweeps down the stairs. 

Alerted, Mark stands, but Jinyoung can do nothing but weakly swing his head towards the noise. The bottom of the stairs is cast in shadow, but if he squints, he can see a figure coming down the steps.

As for Mark, he can see the man clearly, rugged-looking but clean shaven, with curling grey hair and a square jaw. Most importantly of all, Mark knows he is a vampire. Older and stronger than him.

The stranger stops in the shadows pooling at the base of the stairs.

“Sir?” Mark asks, unsure of protocol. 

“Put him under.”

Nodding jerkily, Mark kneels again and takes ahold of Jinyoung’s jaw gently, matching their gazes. A pitiful question rises in Jinyoung’s eyes, and his mouth drops open as if he intends to ask it, but his eyelids droop and he loses consciousness before he can. Carefully, Mark adjusts Jinyoung’s head to lean back against the wall so it doesn’t strain his neck.

Feeling the steely disapproving eyes of his superior on him, Mark stands and steps well away from Jinyoung. It’s only then that the man steps into the room.

“How much do the humans know?”

“Jinyoung knows,” Mark says, indicating Jinyoung with his gaze, then turning his eyes on Jackson. “As for Jackson… a few things, but they could be explained away.”

“Jinyoung,” the stranger repeats, crouching down by Jinyoung’s unconscious form where he’s propped up against the wall. He stares into Jinyoung’s lax face, although from behind Mark cannot see the stranger’s facial expression. “That’s a shame.”

“Sorry sir.”

“What kind of connections do they have? Families? Friends? If they don’t return home, will they be missed?”

“As far as I know, Jackson has a large network of friends and family. Jinyoung… I don’t believe he has much waiting for him,” Mark reports dutifully, tamping down on the swirl of complicated emotions confusing his mind. It feels scummy to say such a thing about Jinyoung. To sell him so short. It would make Mark feel childish and pedantic to mention Nora, though she sits proudly at the front of Mark’s mind. There’s always _someone_ waiting.

“We’ll need to deal with him then,” the stranger says, standing again and heading down the hall, further into the basement. “Lie him down on the ground.”

Stunned into obedience, Mark moves to do just that, gently pulling Jinyoung away from the wall. Morbidly, Mark can’t help but think how fragile Jinyoung’s skull feels in his hand as he cushions it. Guilt weighs heavily in Mark’s stomach now. He shouldn’t have spoken so openly with Jinyoung, he should have tried harder to hide the truth. Confirming Jinyoung’s suspicions only doomed him. And now Mark must stand by and do nothing.

Mark is startled out of his thoughts by a sound from Jaebeom strung up above them, the clink of the cuffs around his wrists, and a grunt. Realizing Jaebeom is trying to get his attention, Mark moves closer, keeping an eye on the hall. His deepest instincts beg him to hear Jaebeom out.

Jaebeom’s speech is slurred from dizziness and the burn on his tongue. His own blood drips down his chin when he opens his mouth to croak out, “ _Pietari Vanhanen._ ”

Mind racing, Mark chases down the name in his mind. He’s heard the name _Pietari_ in the mouth of someone in town, but who?

Then Jaebeom speaks again, voice barely a whisper. “ _Schoolteacher._ ”

And it falls into place. Ms. Richard spoke of her predecessor, who replaced her when she grew too fearful of the students. He was there when the first deaths occured, and he’s been here ever since. He’s here now.

Of course— _of course_ —he made Mark put Jinyoung under, Jinyoung who would recognize him.

Jaebeom must have been turned by Vanhanen recently, and then so easily controlled by him. All the cards that stacked against Jaebeom in Mark’s mind made him an easy target for Vanhanen. With his wife away, Jaebeom is isolated. Vulnerable.

Stepping away from Jaebeom, Mark suppresses the cold grip of fear clutching him as Vanhanen returns to the room, holding a mess of metal and plastic tubing. Mark can’t defeat him in a fight—Vanhanen is too powerful. But he can’t do nothing, frozen as he is.

Vanhanen kneels over Jinyoung and begins hooking him up to the strange machine, jabbing part into the inside of Jinyoung’s arm with a familiarity he doesn’t bother to hide. With a little whir, the machine begins its work. Blood begins to drip into the glass canister on the other end of the tubing. Jinyoung’s blood. 

Jaebeom lunges out from his bonds with a start, cuffs clanking and grating fruitlessly. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes are fixed desperately on Jinyoung, a protective, animalistic gleam to them. 

“What…” Mark begins feebly, before forcing himself to take on a more detached tone. Merely curious. Still fooled by Vanhanen’s lie. “What are we doing?”

“I’m cleaning up the mess you made,” he replies gruffly.

Jaebeom continues to strain against his bindings, chest heaving, black hair a wild mane across his face. Jinyoung’s blood is gushing into the canister now, draining him of his life.

“Settle down,” Mark tells Jaebeom firmly, making sure Vanhanen hears him. 

He steps up, chest-to-chest with Jaebeom, and catches his eye. Somehow, Jaebeom trusts him enough to give Mark his attention. Mark reaches up to Jaebeom’s restraints, toying with them as if checking their strength. 

Then leaning in, Mark says into Jaebeom’s ear, “ _Turn him,_ ” and releases him. 

In a flash, Jaebeom is upon Jinyoung where he lies prone and vulnerable. Though Mark, a stranger to Jaebeom, must be holding off Pietari Vanhanen, Jaebeom is single-minded as he leans his mouth down to Jinyoung’s throat.

Jaebeom has been thinking about this since Jinyoung reappeared in his life, new hungers mixing messily with old desires. The sweet skin of Jinyoung’s neck gives so easily beneath his teeth, and their keen tips sink softly into his bloodstream. Despite the gravity, Jaebeom needs to be gentle. He’s never taken blood from the source before, and the thought of doing it wrong terrifies him. Jinyoung’s life pulses weakly against his tongue and Jaebeom wants to bury his whole face in the scent of it, rich and addictive.

Wasteful, Jaebeom’s inexperience lets blood drip down his chin and shirt, onto the cold floor. Jinyoung’s neck is a mess of blood, but the wound is neat. Feeling the flow weakening even more, Jaebeom opens his jaw, mind focused again. Tearing a gash along his forearm with his teeth, he turns his arm to let his own thick blood trickle across Jinyoung’s lips. Using his other hand he pries Jinyoung’s mouth open to let new life cascade down his throat.

Jaebeom wants to watch every second of Jinyoung’s rebirth, but as the urgency fades, he realizes how still the room around him has become. Looking up, he finds Mark facing him, gaze pleading and apologetic. He is pinned between Vanhanen’s body and a stake held over his heart. Vanhanen’s dangerous eyes are on Jaebeom. The threat is clear. They are overpowered again.

Then the familiar fog of Vanhanen’s control begins to cloud Jaebeom’s mind, blurring his vision. 

“No…” Jaebeom grits out.

Jinyoung’s cold hand flutters feebly in his, twitching as he turns, and Jaebeom clutches it in his own hand and in his mind, desperate for an anchor. Pain blooms in Jaebeom’s head for trying to fight.

Then with the wet, sickening noise of a stake piercing flesh, Jaebeom’s mind is clear. Only the echo of pain in his temples is left as he raises his head to meet Mark’s terrified eyes. The stake held against his chest falls to the ground with a clatter.

Pietari Vanhanen crumples down beside it from behind Mark, paralyzed, limbs twisted like a gnarled tree. His skin turns ashy and corpse-like.

A stake protrudes from his back, and an unfamiliar young woman stands behind where he stood. Another vampire. Snow blows down the stairs from behind her. Gaze deep and intimidating, she casts a critical eye about the room. Jackson, slumped in a pile on the floor. Mark, blood running down his arms from Vanhanen’s claws. Then down at Jaebeom, curled protectively over Jinyoung, both of them smeared with blood.

Finally she raises her eyes to Mark again. “You Mark Tuan?”

Words failing him, Mark nods.

“Right. What kind of operation do you think you’re running here?” 

**4:43 am, December 24th.**

When Jackson next awakens, he finds himself on a distressingly familiar couch. Before even opening his eyes, he lets out a groan at his sore back. Trying to remember how he got suckered into sleeping on the couch again, memories come flooding back. Too much to parse—but the feeling of danger is crystal clear. Though a jolt of fear snaps through him, Jackson can’t shake an odd sort of bleariness, like his brain is wrapped in cobwebs. It feels far too early to be awake, the room only lit up by one of the buttery bedside lamps.

Groggily, he sits up, casting his gaze around their room. Almost immediately, his eyes come to rest upon the figure in the bed closest to him. It’s Jaebeom, sitting up against the headboard. His red-brown eyes are already fixed on Jackson. Just watching, wide and expectant and clear.

Suddenly feeling quite awake, Jackson freezes. He wonders where his gun is.

Jaebeom looks worlds away from the man Jackson saw last night—was it only last night? Yesterday? What Jackson saw shackled against the wall then was more beast than man. But now Jaebeom is sitting straight, a forgotten book sitting open in his lap. Jackson knows it wasn’t all a horrible dream though. Jaebeom is wearing the same clothes, rust-coloured blood dried all down the front.

“Good morning,” Jaebeom says, voice low so as not to disturb the quiet of the room.

Disoriented, Jackson nods. It would be impolite to not respond. “Good morning.”

Jaebeom doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t look away either, like a child who hasn’t yet learned that it’s rude to stare. Nervously, Jackson’s eyes dart around and he quickly realizes one of Jaebeom’s hands is cuffed to the metal coil of the bedpost. It’s the same unusual pair as last night, but Jaebeom seems to be paying his bound hand no mind, letting it rest without struggle on the mattress. 

Though it makes Jackson feel minutely safer, the cuff only brings more questions. With a start, Jackson spies Jinyoung in the other bed, deathly pale and out cold. One of his arms stretches up to the headboard, where his hand is latched onto the bedframe like Jaebeom’s. Jackson’s heart sinks, bogged down by the sickening sludge of doubt. Is Jinyoung really guilty after all? Bloodstains cover the front of his clothes too.

Searching his mind, Jackson tries to remember what happened the night before. Day before? It was hard to tell in the windowless building they were in. Jinyoung had taken his gun. Said something about Mark being the same as Jaebeom.

Jackson’s breath catches in his throat at the memory of Mark rushing Jinyoung, inhumanly fast. Then Jackson had somehow lost consciousness. Mark had pointed his own gun at him, but didn’t shoot. He had looked into Mark’s blazing red eyes… and then nothing.

With a barely audible click, the door to the hall opens, and Mark steps in. He looks unscathed, washed and changed out of the clothes Jackson remembers him wearing. When he sees Jackson is awake, he falters in his step.

“Jackson,” Mark says, mouth moving wordlessly for a moment, like he has so much more to say. “You’re awake.”

“Mark…” Jackson doesn’t feel strong enough to stand, but he tenses his body in preparation for a fight. Mark’s hands are empty, but something tells Jackson weapons aren’t all he has to be worried about. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be okay now,” Mark tells Jackson firmly, confidently coming closer. Even as he makes his way over to Jackson without another hesitation, Mark comes slowly, like he’s approaching a skittish animal. “I’m sorry you had to see everything back there. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“Aren’t we-” Jackson lowers his voice, glancing at Jaebeom, only to find he’s gone back to his book. “You said Doctor Lim was the killer.”

“That’s not quite true.” Mark sighs, and sits on the other end of the couch, giving Jackson his space. “Jinyoung was right, to a certain extent. About me being the same as Jaebeom.”

Jackson winces in anticipation, already feeling foolish for what he’s about to say. “…Vampires…?”

“Yeah.”

Sucking in a deep breath, Jackson nods. “Okay. Let’s say I believe you. You are a vampire. Doctor Lim is a vampire. Keep talking.”

“I was sent here with you and Jinyoung because vampire involvement was suspected,” Mark explains calmly. “If there was a vampire making a mess up here, we’d hardly want humans running around exposing everything.”

“Do you even work for the FBI?”

“Yes. In cybercrimes, mind you, which meant I was perfectly useless up here,” Mark grumbles, before clearing his throat and continuing seriously. “The killer could have been a human of course, but as soon as I inspected the body, I knew it was the work of a vampire.”

“You could what… like smell it on the body?” Jackson’s eyes light up as he remembers Mark’s strange behaviour, and he snaps his fingers. “You sniffed it!”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“That’s why you let Jinyoung do his examination! You stopped suspecting him.”

Mark raises an eyebrow teasingly. “Good to see you use that FBI agent brain.”

“You said you were sent here…” Jackson waits for Mark to nod before continuing, “but by who? Is there some kind of… vampire society?”

“Yes.”

“...really?”

“Did you think vampires existed before today?”

“I’m still a little on the fence,” Jackson admits airily.

“Vampires, we have to take care of our own. For our safety, and yours. We have laws against just killing humans randomly. That’s why what was happening here was unacceptable, why I was sent up to investigate. I had a phone number for an office to call once I thought I had located the vampire here.”

Jackson nods. “After you met Doctor Lim, you went out and made a call.”

“Yes,” Mark says with a little frown in Jaebeom’s direction, “and then he took the opportunity to snatch the pair of you right out from under my nose.”

Jackson follows Mark’s gaze, letting his eyes rest on Jaebeom for a moment, who is pointedly continuing to read his book. Beyond Jaebeom, Jinyoung is still unconscious. Asleep, Jackson hopes.

Taking a deep breath, Jackson turns back to Mark and asks, “What happened to Jinyoung? Is he okay?”

“Jinyoung… he almost died.” Mark crumples a bit, and he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes for a moment before taking a breath. “I’m sorry, Jackson. It would have been my fault. I just let it happen.”

“But he’s okay?”

“Sort of. He lost a lot of blood. After I put you to sleep, a man came in. I thought…” Mark hesitates, nibbling on his lip. Carefully, Jackson reaches over and squeezes Mark’s arm reassuringly, prompting him to continue. “I never even heard the voice of my superior, so I thought he was who I was expecting.”

“But he wasn’t.”

“No. Do you remember Ms. Richard mentioning the old school teacher being brought in to teach? And Jinyoung brought him up too. Pietari Vanhanen. It was him.”

“Why was he there?”

Just as silently as Mark, another person enters their room. To Jackson, the young woman is a stranger, but when Mark rises quickly it’s without concern.

“Jackson, this is who I was actually waiting for,” Mark begins to explain.

“Another vampire?”

“Another vampire,” she confirms, striding over to offer Jackson her hand to shake. When he tries to stand, dizziness overcomes him, and she puts her hand on his shoulder instead with a roguish smile. “No need to stand on ceremony. My name is Yubin Kim, good to see you awake.”

“So you’re like… Mark’s actual vampire boss?” Jackson asks, looking up at her from his seat. “Do _you_ even work for the FBI?”

“Homeland security, actually,” Yubin says, pulling her identification out of her jacket and offering it to Jackson.

“Damn, you guys have really infiltrated the system, huh?”

Yubin raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I also saved all of your asses, so show a little respect.”

“Sorry.” Jackson shrinks back a bit, but Yubin gives him a cheeky smile. Just messing around. Good, good. “I still have more questions.”

“Of course,” Yubin says, perching on the arm of the couch as Mark sits down again. “We’ll try to answer them. Now that you know, it’s better for you to be as fully informed as possible.”

“Is… he…” Jackson glances at Jaebeom. Though the other man doesn’t look up, Jackson sees his eyes unfocus on the page, clearly listening to their conversation. “Is Doctor Lim who we were looking for then? Or is it this… Pietari Vanhanen?”

“Jaebeom Lim wasn’t involved in the older cases,” Yubin answers, speaking slowly and clearly. “That was all Vanhanen. From what Jaebeom tells us, it sounds like Vanhanen was trying to exert control over him then. But getting a human in your thrall can be tricky. The easiest victim is a young vampire that you’ve sired.”

“Sorry, what’s… in a thrall? Like being a servant?”

“Being a vampire thrall, it’s more like being mind controlled by a powerful vampire,” Mark explains.

“Oh…” Jackson frowns down at his hands. “Is that what you did to me? To make me fall asleep?”

“ _No_ ,” Mark says fiercely, almost offended at the suggestion. “Jackson, I would _never_ do that to you. And I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. I don’t know how. What I did to you was just low level hypnosis-type stuff. All I need is prolonged eye contact. Most vampires can do it, it’s how Jaebeom got you and Jinyoung.”

Jackson nods, relieved. His mind drifts back to the bigger picture, and his eyes light up suddenly. “But this means, for Doctor Lim, he was being controlled right? In the two more recent cases? Is he still… liable?”

“Not by our laws, no,” Yubin answers promptly.

“Why is he handcuffed then?”

“Oh,” Yubin looks a little startled to be reminded, “I was just out corroborating some things. But you’re right.” 

Without any fuss, Mark hands Yubin the keys and she goes over, releasing Jaebeom. 

“That’s it?” Jaebeom asks, dropping his book to hold his freed wrist.

“That’s it.” Yubin tosses the cuffs and keys back to Mark, who catches them easily. “You’re still comfortable with the plans we’ve discussed?”

“Yes. I’d like to stay…” Jaebeom’s gaze wanders off towards Jinyoung. “I understand the importance of it, yes.”

Yubin returns to her spot on the couch, shooting Mark a pitying look. “Have fun being third wheel for the next year,” she says under her breath, mouth curved in a teasing smile. “Jackson. Any other burning questions?”

Though he’s curious about Yubin’s comment, Jackson is quickly distracted by more pressing questions of the case when she says _burning_. “Yes, did you figure out who burned the church down? Or was it just an accident?”

Mark and Yubin look at each other, and it’s clear from their faces neither have the answer. Just as Yubin is opening her mouth to reply, Jaebeom speaks.

“It wasn’t an accident.” His eyes are on the fraying quilt of his bed, and when they don’t respond to him, he looks up at the three of them. “Vanhanen set the fire.”

“Because… he couldn’t go in… to the church?” Jackson posits feebly.

“Sort of. I wasn’t his first choice of… apprentice.”

“He wanted Jinyoung,” Jackson says, sure this time.

Jaebeom’s gaze meets Jackson’s levelly, and he nods once. “Yes. I don’t know why. I think he just prefered him. Thought he would be the most… obedient. He had settled on me but he just couldn’t let Jinyoung go. Jinyoung was safe in the church. Safe from him, anyway. He couldn’t set foot in there.”

Gaze pulled away from them, Jaebeom turns to look at Jinyoung’s peacefully resting form. Jackson fights the urge to lean around and try to catch the expression on Jaebeom’s face.

Without turning back to them, Jaebeom continues. “When he realized Jinyoung had vanished, I don’t know, he just… stopped. It was like a fog lifted from my head. And Jinyoung was gone.”

“Would you have gone with him, if you had the chance?” Jackson asks quietly, leaning forward hopefully. Finally Jaebeom turns back to them with a frown across his handsome features. Cowed, Jackson sits back. “Sorry.”

“Vanhanen seemed to just disappear back to his house for years. Then he began complaining of health problems, drawing me out there, after…” Jaebeom hesitates, looking guilty for a moment, “after Simone left town.”

“Your wife?”

“Ah- we’re separated.”

“Oh…” Jackson breathes, trying not to look too pleased. “You’re separated…”

“These past few months, it was like being in that fog again. Just going about my day without thinking or remembering half of what was happening. It was only when Jinyoung reappeared that I felt… different.

Jackson nods dreamily, and Mark nudges his knee with a smug little smile. With a little chortle and an eye roll, Yubin stands again.

“Well, it’s a good job you brought Jinyoung along then,” she says to Jackson.

“Is it?” Jackson mumbles, pursing his lips. “He’s still out… He’ll really be okay?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘okay’,” Yubin answers cryptically.

“Is Jinyoung a vampire now too?” Jackson asks finally, taking the plunge. “That’s why he’s cuffed?”

“Yes,” Mark replies after a moment’s hesitation. “Turning him was the only way of keeping him… around, once he was hooked up to that machine. It was draining his blood too fast.”

“So what’s gonna happen to him?”

“Normally a new vampire would be taken under the wing of their sire, shown the ropes, taught how to behave in society. But his sire is Jaebeom, who wasn’t exactly given proper vampire education himself. So I’ll be looking after Jinyoung for a while, and Jaebeom, while they adjust.”

“ _Here?_ ”

“God no,” Mark scoffs, giving Jackson a horrified look. “Yubin’s set up a… safehouse, let’s say, in Detroit. And she’s already pulled some strings to get us on a flight there this evening. As soon as Jinyoung’s awake and fed, we’re out of here.” 

Jackson nods stiffly, mind overloaded with new information. Narrowing his eyes, he asks, “Maybe this is a stupid question. But what exactly are you going to be feeding Jinyoung? Should I be concerned?”

Yubin barks out a laugh.

“Relax, Jackson. Our laws aren’t just “killing humans bad”. Taking blood from a human without their consent, also bad,” Mark recites. “And it would be dangerous since Jinyoung’s a baby, and doesn’t know what he’s doing. Plus his fangs won’t come in for a bit. It’s blood bags for him for the next several months, I’d say.”

“Okay, phew,” Jackson says, jokingly wiping sweat from his brow in relief. 

“Also, I hope it goes without saying, Jackson. You can’t tell anyone about this. Vampires. A few decades back, any human that learned of vampires was _killed_. Or turned. No exceptions.”

“And now?”

“Now, it’s a case-by-case basis,” Yubin replies vaguely. 

“I trust you, Jackson,” Mark says earnestly. “And Jinyoung certainly does too. Telling people would put both of us in a lot of danger. Especially him.”

“Alright, you don’t have to belabour the point,” Jackson whines, a little offended. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

Mark smiles gratefully and leans back against the couch. Mirroring him, Jackson lets out a long huff of air, staring off into space. The springs of the couch dig into his back uncomfortably. Yubin wanders over to Jinyoung, brushing his hair away from his forehead like she’s checking his temperature. With a pleased grin, Jackson watches Jaebeom prickle a little at the contact, then he glances over at Mark.

“So how old are you anyway?”

“Fifty-four.”

“Oh,” Jackson says, nodding appreciatively. “You look good.”

“I know.”

**2:20 pm, December 25th.**

_He likes you!_

_Don’t be ridiculous! The only thing he cares about is the Christmas parade!_

_There’s room in his heart for more than Christmas…_

Eyes glazed over in boredom, Jinyoung sits in a handsome flat in Detroit, watching a thoroughly inane Christmas special on the television. The protagonist, a conventionally attractive white woman with wavy shoulder-length blonde hair who comes from the city and takes her job too seriously, chatters away on screen. Stranded in a quaint little town over Christmas, she butts heads with the local carpenter, a conventionally attractive white man with brown hair with a few days worth of facial hair. 

Jinyoung can feel his brain melting.

But it’s good distraction. It’s distraction. Jinyoung wishes he could say he woke up yesterday and found his world changed, but so far, it’s mostly been light being uncomfortably bright, noises being uncomfortably loud, and everything smelling a lot stronger than usual.

Oh, and of course there’s a little packet of blood in his hand now. He’s trying to roll with it. Yubin stuck a little straw in it for him and made a joke about him having fun at school, so it’s a bit less dramatic than he thought it would be.

They’d made him sit by the window on the plane ride to Detroit, boxed in by Yubin and Mark like he might leap out of the seat and tear out some unsuspecting passenger’s throat. He’d felt no such urges, and Mark said the process of turning is different for everyone.

Taking another contemplative sip of his blood pouch, Jinyoung watches the protagonist’s new best friend in the charming little town as she talks the love interest into being more accomodating. The best friend is strikingly similar in appearance to the protagonist, but with brown hair.

Dreadfully bored, Jinyoung turns his head to look over the back of the plush green armchair he’s ensconced himself in. Through a wide archway, he can see Mark, Jackson, and Yubin in the dining room, poring over their reports dutifully. Jinyoung had given them his full report earlier, not needing to alter or omit any information. 

Yubin already told Jinyoung that he’s not allowed to leave the flat for the first couple days without supervision, for safety reasons. Though Jinyoung still feels no violent or bloodthirsty impulses, he can understand the caution. Nothing’s open on Christmas anyway. 

But earlier, Jaebeom had gone out. As much as Jinyoung wishes he could say he had more important things to worry about, he cannot. He hasn’t said more than two words to Jaebeom since waking, and Jinyoung can’t quite tell which one of them is giving the other the cold shoulder. Maybe they’re both just being awkward. Maybe Jaebeom is giving him some space.

Jinyoung’s memories from the schoolhouse basement are fuzzy, but images and feelings come to him at random, like wisps of a dream. He remembers Jaebeom looming over him as he lay exhausted and vulnerable, but he doesn’t remember feeling afraid. What must have been Jaebeom turning him, feels like a lover’s embrace in his memory, and his cheeks burn hotly at the fanciful thought.

“Jinyoung,” Yubin calls from the other room and he jolts guiltily.

Peering over the back of his chair again, he meets her eye. “…yes?”

“I know I’ve been giving you a lot of ultimatums, but how long are you comfortable staying here?” Yubin asks, walking closer to lean her shoulder against the edge of the archway. “Typically a vampire stays under the tutelage of their sire for at least a year, but there’s no reason it has to be in Detroit.”

“I’m fine with not going back to Washington. Ever, even. But I would like to get my belongings. And Nora. My cat.” Jinyoung pauses. “Cats aren’t afraid of vampires, are they?”

Mark’s high-pitched laugh echoes in from the dining room. “I wouldn’t worry, one of my neighbours has like five cats.”

“ _Five_ cats?” Jaebeom’s voice comes from behind them, followed by the sound of the front door closing behind him.

“Welcome back,” Jackson greets enthusiastically. “Had enough of your mysterious outing?”

Offering Jackson only a cryptic smile, Jaebeom pulls off his boots and coat. 

“Why don’t you just chill with Jinyoung a bit,” Yubin says distractedly, eyes scanning the paper in front of her, “we’re just finishing up.”

Jaebeom takes her suggestion and walks into the room Jinyoung’s in, sitting disconcertingly close. Fortunately, Jinyoung is inaccessible in his high-backed armchair, but Jaebeom sits on the closest end of the sofa. Jinyoung’s right hand buzzes with nerves where it lies along the armrest of his chair, being in such close proximity to Jaebeom’s hand on the armrest of the sofa.

“Jaebeom.” Jinyoung speaks lightly, maintaining a casual tone. “Did you… finish your errand?”

Jaebeom turns his full attention on Jinyoung then, gaze as intense as it has always been. “I did.”

“What…” for a moment, Jinyoung loses his nerve, “what were you doing?”

“I went to see Simone.”

Trying to suppress any emotions rushing into his chest, Jinyoung drops his gaze from Jaebeom’s face. Though he prides himself on his emotional control, Jinyoung knows Jaebeom would easily see the hurt in his eyes, in the purse of his lips.

“I wanted to ask her in person about finalizing the divorce.”

“Oh,” Jinyoung says dumbly, snapping his gaze up to Jaebeom in surprise. “That’s not very nice news to get on Christmas.”

“Jinyoung, Simone and I have been separated for over a year now. We were never going to reconcile, we both knew that,” Jaebeom says, tone firm, before he smiles. “She’s met someone actually.”

“Oh,” Jinyoung repeats, blinking. 

“So have I,” Jaebeom continues, giving Jinyoung a significant look that can only mean _it’s you_. “Actually I met him a long time ago.”

Jinyoung chooses his words carefully, eyes fixed on the television again, all a blur of reds and whites. “You’re not worried too much time has passed since you last knew him? A lot can change.”

“A lot _has_ changed. But some things have stayed the same, haven’t they?” Jaebeom’s hand drifts closer to Jinyoung’s, until his pinkie touches the round bone of Jinyoung’s wrist. The touch is infuriatingly tame when Jinyoung wants Jaebeom to take him into his arms and hold him bruisingly tight.

“I want to know all those things that have changed, Jinyoung,” Jaebeom continues softly. “I want to know you again. I want to love you again.” 

Jinyoung’s face turns hot in embarrassment, standing on an unstable precipice of hesitation. Below him, a man offering his heart. No strings attached. It scares Jinyoung a little. To think there’s nothing holding Jaebeom back, nothing to curl away from, hidden and secret. Just falling freely.

It scares Jinyoung a lot, actually, but he wants to be brave. Slowly, Jinyoung moves his hand, and Jaebeom stops the dizzying twirl of his pinky against Jinyoung’s skin, breath faltering. But Jinyoung isn’t pulling away. He reaches his hand over Jaebeom’s, to awkwardly take it into his. The angle is all wrong, and Jinyoung burns at the broadcasting of his inexperience, but Jaebeom simply twists his hand to intertwine their fingers. 

Breathlessly pinned under Jaebeom’s gaze, Jinyoung fusses with the little packet of blood in his other hand, frowning as he takes another sip. Jaebeom finally turns his fond smile away from Jinyoung to face the television, and Jinyoung risks a glance. The foolish expression hasn’t left Jaebeom’s face, and Jinyoung finds a smile drifting onto his face, delicate but not brittle.

Jinyoung feels that same excitement flickering inside him, to learn everything about Jaebeom that he’s missed. To rediscover everything that remains the same. Jaebeom’s hand is no longer cold in his, now a soothing equilibrium runs between their tangled fingers. Perhaps falling freely won’t be so bad, as long as Jinyoung has Jaebeom to hold him as they fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!!! Please remember to leave a comment if you enjoyed! If you want to show your love for Marty's art, find it on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/MartytheGirl/status/1236871734105714688?s=20) and give it a like/retweet/comment too! You can also find me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/JayofDiamonds)!


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